Flowers

I will not have the mad Clytie,

Whose head is turned by the sun;

The tulip is a courtly queen,

Whom, therefore, I will shun;

The cowslip is a country wench,

The violet is a nun; -

But I will woo the dainty rose,

The queen of everyone.

The pea is but a wanton witch,

In too much haste to wed,

And clasps her rings on every hand

The wolfsbane I should dread; -

Nor will I dreary rosemary

That always mourns the dead; -

But I will woo the dainty rose,

With her cheeks of tender red.

The lily is all in white, like a saint,

And so is no mate for me -

And the daisy's cheek is tipped with blush,

She is of such low degree;

Jasmine is sweet, and has many loves,

And the broom's betrothed to the bee; -

But I will plight with the dainty rose,

For fairest of all is she.