That is work of waste and ruin—
Do as Charles and I are doing!
Strawberry-blossoms，one and all，
We must spare them—here are many:
Look at it—the flower is small，
Small and low，though fair as any➀:
Do not touch it!summers two
I am older，Anne，than you.
Pull the primrose，sister Anne!
Pull as many as you can.
—Here are daisies，take your fill；
Pansies，and the cuckoo-flower:
Of the lofty daffodil
Make your bed，or make your bower；
Fill your lap and fill your bosom；
Only spare the strawberry-blossom!
Primroses，the Spring may love them—
Summer knows but little of them:
Violets，a barren kind，
Withered on the ground must lie；
Daisies leave no fruit behind
When the pretty flowerets die；
Pluck them，and another year
As many will be blowing here.
God has given a kindlier power
To the favoured strawberry-flower.
Hither soon as spring is fled
You and Charles and I will walk；
Lurking berries，ripe and red，
Then will hang on every stalk，
Each within its leafy bower；
And for that promise spare the flower!