Meadow-sweet or lily fair— Which shall it be? Clematis or brier-rose, Blooming for me? Spicy pink, or violet With the dews of morning wet, Sweet peas or mignonette— Which shall it be?
Flowers in the garden-beds, Flowers everywhere; Blue-bells and yellow-bells Swinging in the air; Purple pansies, golden pied; Pink-white daisies, starry-eyed; Gay nasturtiums, deeply dyed, Climbing everywhere!
Oh, the roses darkly red— See, how they burn! Glows with all the summer heat Each crimson urn. Bridal roses pure as snow, Yellow roses all a-blow, Sweet blush-roses drooping low, Wheresoe’er I turn!
Life is so full, so sweet— How can I choose? If I gather this rose, That I must lose! All are not for me to wear; I can only have my share; Thorns are hiding here and there; How can I choose?
NOT MINE
It is not mine to run With eager feet Along life’s crowded ways, My Lord to meet.
It is not mine to pour The oil and wine, Or bring the purple robe And linen fine.
It is not mine to break At his dear feet The alabaster-box Of ointment sweet.
It is not mine to bear heavy cross, Or suffer, for his sake, All pain and loss.
It is not mine to walk Through valleys dim, Or climb far mountain-heights Alone with him.