THE LOVES OF THE PLANTS.
The gay Daffodilly, an amorous blade,
Stole out of his bed in the dark,
And calling his brother, Jon-Quil, forth he stray’d
To breathe his love vows to a Violet maid
Who dwelt in a neighbouring park.
A spiteful old Nettle-aunt frown’d on their love;
But Daffy, who laugh’d at her power,
A Shepherd’s-purse slipp’d in the nurse’s Fox-glove,
Then up Jacob’s-ladder he crept to his love,
And stole to the young Virgin’s-bower.
The Maiden’s-blush Rose—and she seem’d all dismay’d,
Array’d in her white Lady’s-smock,
She call’d Mignonette—but the sly little jade,
That instant was hearing a sweet serenade
From the lips of a tall Hollyhock.
The Pheasant’s eye, always a mischievous wight,
For prying out something not good,
Avow’d that he peep’d through the keyhole that night;
And clearly discern’d, by a glow-worm’s pale light,
Their Two-faces-under-a-hood.
Old Dowager Peony, deaf as a door,
Who wish’d to know more of the facts,
Invited Dame Mustard and Miss Hellebore,
With Miss Periwinkle, and many friends more,
One evening to tea and to tracts.
The Butter-cups ranged, defamation ran high,
While every tongue join’d the debate;
Miss Sensitive said, ‘twixt a groan and a sigh,
Though she felt much concern’d—yet she thought her dear Vi—
Had grown rather bulbous of late.
Thus the tale spread about through the busy parterre:
Miss Columbine turn'd up her nose,
And the prude Lady Lavender said, with a stare,
That her friend, Mary-gold, had been heard to declare,
The creature had toy’d with the Rose.
Each Sage look’d severe, and each Cocks-comb look’d gay,
When Daffy to make their mind easy,
Miss Violet married one morning in May,
And, as sure as you live, before next Lady-day,
She brought him a Michaelmas-daisy.