The laggard year is now at prime

And primrose-time is daffodil-time;

Where do the boys delay? What tether

Hinders them from the heavenly weather,

From violet-time and cowslip-time?

Why do they keep the house so late?

The sweet o' the year is at the gate,

And hear the cuckoo calling, saying:

Up, slug-a-bed! 'Tis time for Maying!

The cuckoo calling early and late.

They have stolen away before the dawn,

No print in the May-dew on the lawn

Betrays the way their light feet taking

Set not the quaking grass to shaking,

Running so light-foot in the dawn.

The primrose and the daffodil weather

Is here, and cowslips troop together;

The lambs frolic in pastures gold,

But since they come not it is cold.

Cold the primrose and daffodil weather.