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FLOWERS.
Sweet sisterhood of flowers,
Ye tell of happier hours,
Eloquent eyes, soft hands, and beaming brow;
Ye were a gift from one
Best loved beneath the sun,
And ye must bring me memories of her now.
Ye tell of happier hours,
Eloquent eyes, soft hands, and beaming brow;
Ye were a gift from one
Best loved beneath the sun,
And ye must bring me memories of her now.
Thou rare red Picotine!
Seemed she not like a queen,
Gloriously proud, nor beautiful the less,
When what I whispered low
Made the red blushes show,
For shame to hear of her own loveliness?
Seemed she not like a queen,
Gloriously proud, nor beautiful the less,
When what I whispered low
Made the red blushes show,
For shame to hear of her own loveliness?
Thou dost remind me well,
Down-looking heather-bell,
How she looked downward in that lonely spot,
And to my earnest prayer
Tremblingly gave me there
This star of lover's hope—“Forget-me-Not.”
Down-looking heather-bell,
How she looked downward in that lonely spot,
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Tremblingly gave me there
This star of lover's hope—“Forget-me-Not.”
Sweet Rose! thy crimson leaves
Are little happy thieves!
She kissed thee, and her lips are mine alone:
Now by that blessed day
I'll wear thy leaves away,
Kissing the kiss till kissing-place be gone.
Are little happy thieves!
She kissed thee, and her lips are mine alone:
Now by that blessed day
I'll wear thy leaves away,
Kissing the kiss till kissing-place be gone.
Beautiful, bright-winged Pea!
Ah! but I envied thee,
Plucked by her hand, and on her bosom lying.
Oh! it were happy death
There to sigh out the breath;
Never to die, and yet be still a-dying.
Ah! but I envied thee,
Plucked by her hand, and on her bosom lying.
Oh! it were happy death
There to sigh out the breath;
Never to die, and yet be still a-dying.
White lily of the vale!
I fear thou saw'st a tale
Told without words, when none but thou wert nigh:
Keep faith, sweet bud of snow!
None but ourselves must know—
Thou and the Evening Star, and She, and I.
I fear thou saw'st a tale
Told without words, when none but thou wert nigh:
Keep faith, sweet bud of snow!
None but ourselves must know—
Thou and the Evening Star, and She, and I.
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