Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies, The tufted crow-toe, and pale gessamine, The white pink, and the pansy freaked with jet, The glowing violet, The musk-rose, and the well attir'd woodbine, With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head, And every flower that sad embroidery wears: Bid amaranthus all his beauty shed, And daffadillies fill their cups with tears, To strew the laureate hearse where Lycid lies.

-Milton,John
  Lycidas, l.142^51. rathe = early.

But there's a tree, of many, one, A single field which I have looked upon, Both of them speak of something that isgone: The pansyat my feet Doth the same tale repeat: Whither is fled the visionary gleam? Where is it now, the glory and the dream?

-Wordsworth,William
c.1802^1803  'Ode. Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood', stanza 4 (published1807).