All-stately queens it o’er her satellites,
The yellow daffodils; Narcissus scents,
With his frankincense sweet, the keen March air,
A flower of peerless beauty.
Wall-flowers shew
From bed and border, their brown-orange blooms;
And under them lingereth a vestal pure,
The last pale primrose. All the pear-trees bend
Beneath their flower-snow; the almonds blush
With roseate bloom; the young year’s minstrel sweet—