I would I had some flowers o' th' spring that might
  Become your time of day, and yours, and yours,
    That wear upon your virgin branches yet
      Your maidenheads growing.  O, Proserpina,
        For the flowers now that, frighted, thou let'st fall
          From Dis's wagon; daffodils,
            That come before the swallow dares, and take
              The winds of March with beauty; violets dim,
                But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes
                  Or Cytherea's breath; pale primroses,
                    That die unmarried, ere they can behold
                      Bright Phoebus in his strength--a malady
                        Most incident to maids;  bold oxlips and
                          The crown imperial; lilies of all kinds,
                            The flower-de-luce being one.
 — William Shakespeare
  Daffodils