I would I had some flowers o’ the spring, that might
Become your time of day; and your’s, and your’s,
That wear upon your virgin branches yet
Your maiden-heads growing: O Proserpina,
For the flowers now, that, frighted, thou let’st fall
From Dis’s waggon! daffodils,
That come before the swallow dares, and take
The winds of March with beauty: violets dim,
But sweeter than the lids of Juno’s eyes,
Or Cytherea’s breath; pale primroses,