welcome, dear heart, and a most kind good-morrow;

the day is gloomy, but our looks shall shine:—

flowers i have none to give thee, but i borrow

their sweetness in a verse to speak for thine.

here are red roses, gather’d at thy cheeks —

the white were all too happy to look white:

for love the rose, for faith the lily speaks;

it withers in false hands, but here ’tis bright!

dost love sweet hyacinth? its scented leaf

curls manifold — all love’s delights blow double:

’tis said this flow’ret is inscribed with grief —

but let that hint of a forgotten trouble.

i pluck’d the primrose at night’s dewy noon;

like hope, it show’d its blossoms in the night; —

’twas, like endymion, watching for the moon!

and here are sun-flowers, amorous of light!

these golden buttercups are april’s seal —

the daisy-stars her constellations be:

these grew so lowly, i was forced to kneel,

therefore i pluck no daisies but for thee!

here’s daisies for the morn, primrose for gloom

pansies and roses for the noontide hours:—

a wight once made a dial of their bloom —

so may thy life be measured out by flowers!