Rose, what is become of thy delicate hue?
And where is the violet's beautiful blue?
Does aught read more

Rose, what is become of thy delicate hue?
And where is the violet's beautiful blue?
Does aught of its sweetness the blossom beguile?
That meadow, those daisies, why do they not smile?

I have loved flowers that fade,
Within those magic tents
Rich hues have marriage made
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I have loved flowers that fade,
Within those magic tents
Rich hues have marriage made
With sweet unmemoried scents.

Not a flower
But shows some touch, in freckle, streak or stain,
Of his unrivall'd pencil.

Not a flower
But shows some touch, in freckle, streak or stain,
Of his unrivall'd pencil.

A root is a flower that disdains fame.

A root is a flower that disdains fame.

Flowers are Love's truest language; they betray,
Like the divining rods of Magi old,
Where precious wealth read more

Flowers are Love's truest language; they betray,
Like the divining rods of Magi old,
Where precious wealth lies buried, not of gold,
But love--strong love, that never can decay!

By plucking her petals, you do not gather the beauty of the flower.

By plucking her petals, you do not gather the beauty of the flower.

I know not which I love the most,
Nor which the comeliest shows,
The timid, bashful violet
read more

I know not which I love the most,
Nor which the comeliest shows,
The timid, bashful violet
Or the royal-hearted rose:
The pansy in purple dress,
The pink with cheek of red,
Or the faint, fair heliotrope, who hangs,
Like a bashful maid her head.

The happy bells shall ring Marguerite;
The summer birds shall sing Marguerite;
You smile but you shall read more

The happy bells shall ring Marguerite;
The summer birds shall sing Marguerite;
You smile but you shall wear
Orange blossoms in your hair, Marguerite.

Fair flowers that are not gather'd in their prime rot and consume themselves in little time.

Fair flowers that are not gather'd in their prime rot and consume themselves in little time.