Shining like guineas

Tis May and yet the March flower Dandelion 
Is still in bloom among the Emerald grass 
Shining like guineas with the suns warm eye on 
We almost think they are gold as we pass 
Or fallen stars on a green sea of grass 
The[y] shine in fields on waste grounds near the town 
They closed like painters brush when even was 
At length they turn to nothing else but down 
While the rude winds blow of[f] each shadowy crown 

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