Classic Poem

1

Mary, I love to sing
About the flowers of Spring,
For they resemble thee.
In the earliest of the year
Thy beauties will appear,
And youthful modesty.

2

Here's the Daisy's silver rim,
With gold eye never dim,
Spring's earliest flowers so fair;
Here's the pilewort's golden rays,
Set the cow-green in a blaze,
Like the sunshine in thy hair.

3

Here's forget-me-not so blue,
Is there any flower so true?
Can it speak thy happy lot?
When we courted in disguise,
This flower I used to prize,
For it said " Forget-me-not! "

4

Speedwell! and when we meet
In the meadow paths so sweet,
When the flowers I gave to thee,
All grew beneath the sun
May thy gentle heart be won
And I be blesst with thee! —