Coltsfoot And Larkspur Speedwell

In the race of the flowers that's run due,     As the HARTSTONGUE pants at the well     And the HOUNDSTONGUE laps the SUNDEW.     Here's VENUS'-COMBE for MAIDENHAIR:     While KING-CUPS drink BELLA-DONNA,     Glad in purple and gold so fair,     Though the DEADLY NIGHTSHADE'S upon her.     Behold LONDON PRIDE robed & crowned,     Ushered in by the GOLDEN ROD,     While a floral crowd press around,     Just to win from her crest a nod.     The FOXGLOVES are already on.     Not only in pairs but dozens;     They've come out to see all the fun,     With sisters and aunts and cousins.     The STITCHWORK looked up with a sigh     At BATCHELOR'S BUTTONS unsewn:     Single Daisies were not in her eye,     For the grass was just newly mown.     The HORSE-TAIL, 'scaped from WOLFE'S CLAW,     Rides off with a LADIES' LAGES.     The FRIAR'S-COWL hides a doctor of law,     And the BISHOP'S-WEED covers his grace's     The SNAPDRAGON opened his jaw,     But, at sight of Scotch THISTLE, turned pale:     He'd too many points of the law     For a dragon without a scale.     Little JENNY-CREEPER lay low,     Till happy thoughts made her gladder;     How to rise in the world she'd know,     So she climbed up JACOB'S LADDER     SWEET WILLIAM with MARYGOLD     Seek HEARTSEASE in the close box-border.     Where, starched in their ruff's stiff fold,     DUTCH DAHLIAS prim, keep order.     NARCISSUS bends over the brook,     Intent upon DAFFA-DOWN-DILLY:     While EYEBRIGHT observes from her nook,     And wonders he could be so silly.     A LANCE FOR A LAD 'gainst KING'S SPEAR.     When the BUGLE sounds for the play     A LADIES MANTLE flaunting there     Is the banner that leads the fray.     KNIGHT'S SPUR to the LADIES BOWER     To seek for the LADIES SLIPPER.     'Twas lost in the wood in a summer shower     When the CLOWN'S WORT tried to trip her.     TOAD-FLAX is spun for BUTTER-AND-EGGS     On a LADIES' CUSHION sits THRIFT     She never wastes, or steals, or begs,     But she can't give poor RAGWORT a lift.     QUEEN OF THE MEADS is MEADOWSWEET,     In the realm of grasses wide:     But not in all her court you meet     The turbaned TURK'S HEAD in his pride.     Fair BETHLEHEM' STAR shineth bright,     In a lowly place, as of old,     And through the green gloom glows the light     Of ST. JOHN'S-WORT--a nimbus of gold.     But the hours of the sun swift glide,     And the flowers with them are speeding.     Though LOVE-IN-A-MIST may hide.     When Time's in the garden weeding.     There's TRAVELLER'S JOY     To entwine,     At our journey's end for greeting,     We can talk over SOPS-IN-WINE,     And drink to our next merry meeting.