And violets sweet their odors yield,
The purple blossom paints the thorn,
And streams reflect the blush of morn
Then lads and lasses, all be gay,
For this is Nature’s holiday.
Horace Smith wrote:
Your voiceless lips, O flowers, are living teachers,
Each cup a pulpit and each leaf a book,
Supplying to my fancy numerous teachers,
From loveliest nook.