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 Any: 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!