The Lent Lily By A. E. Housman

‘Tis spring; come out to ramble
  The hilly brakes around,
For under thorn and bramble
  About the hollow ground
  The primroses are found.

And there’s the windflower chilly
  With all the winds at play,
And there’s the Lenten lily
  That has not long to stay
  And dies on Easter day.

And since till girls go maying
  You find the primrose still,
And find the windflower playing
  With every wind at will,
  But not the daffodil,

Bring baskets now, and sally
  Upon the spring’s array,
And bear from hill and valley
  The daffodil away
  That dies on Easter day.