Buttercups among the grass,
Smiling on us as we pass,
Lifting up such happy faces,—
Starry-bright and bathed in dew,—
Ah, if we could be like you,
Each contented in our places!

Whether skies be bright or sad,
Little matters: you are glad,
Darlings, in all sorts of weather;
Just as happy here as there,
Just as fresh and debonair
Singly as in crowds together.

By the side of dusty street
Cheerful as in meadow sweet:
Name the spell, that we may try it!
Ah, could gold its purchase be,
Friend, 't were wise in you and me,
Selling all we have to buy it!