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.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem