I've won 10000 awards for hating spring and everything spring related, but if I had to choose, I'd say daffodils.

When I was a kid, my yard was on the edge of a very steep hill that might as well have been a cliff, and I would often get stupidly close to the edge if it meant I could get a closer look at one of the white daffodils that sometimes grew there, or even more rarely a white one with a yellow or orange trumpet! Most daffodils in the neighborhood were plain yellow, and the good ones only ever grew in the most dangerous spots.