With tulips, pinks, and rosemary,
From goodly gardens pluck'd by me,
I'll from above bestrew Him.
And snow-white lilies here and there
His side shall be thrown over;
When closed His eyes with slumber are,
Them shall they softly cover.
But Thou mayest love the grass so dry,
My Child! more than the things that I
Have spoken or have thought of.