London, May 1930 Poem by Jan Struther

The crimson may-tree now
In scented splendour stands,
And long, green-fingered hands
Hang from the chestnut bough.
Summer invades the town:
The daffodils are brown.
They lean with tired heads drooping,
Shrunk leaf and shrivelled stem;
Time has defeated them
Who came so gaily trooping.
Faded each golden gown:
The daffodils are brown.
Roses shall come, I know,
Lilac and mignonette;
Beauty on beauty yet
The year has still to show.
Tears, tears, why fall you down?
The daffodils are brown.