WHAT THE BOUQUET SAID.
For one who would himself be here,
And for ourselves who hold you dear,
We come, fair maid, to welcome you.
For sun-bright eyes like yours we grew,
For cheeks like yours, with ardor meet,
Would flush, aglow their glow to greet;
And up to you, our fragrance rare
Is breathed from lips that burst in prayer.
Our goddess dear, our sister sweet,