In careless patches through the wood
The clumps of yellow primrose stood
And sheets of white anemones
Like driven snow against the trees
Had covered up the violet
But left the blue-bells bluer yet
Along the narrow carpet ride
With primroses on either side
Between their shadows and the sun
The cows came slowly, one by one
Breathing the early morning air
And leaving it still sweeter there
And, one by one, intent upon
Their purposes, they followed on
In ordered silence. . . and were gone
But all the little wood was still
As if it waited so, until
Some blackbird on an outpost yew
Watching the slow procession through
Lifted his yellow beak at last
To whistle that the line had passed
Then all the wood began to sing
Its morning anthem to the spring
