The buttercups, bright-eyed and bold,
	Held up their chalices of gold
	To catch the sunshine and the dew.

Julia C. R. Dorr.    

	The buttercups across the field
	Made sunshine rifts of splendor.

D. M. Mulock.    

	All will be gay when noontide wakes anew
	The buttercups, the little children’s dower.

Robert Browning.    

	When, buttercups are blossoming,
	The poets sang, ’tis best to wed:
	So all for love we paired in spring—
	Blanche and I—ere youth had sped.

E. C. Stedman.    

	And O the buttercups! that field
	O’ the cloth of gold, where pennons swam—
	Where France set up his lilied shield,
	His oriflamb,
	And Henry’s lion-standard rolled:
	What was it to their matchless sheen,
	Their million million drops of gold
	Among the green!

Jean Ingelow.