Flowers.
“Sweet flowers, sweet flowers, baptized with dew,
By the rosy-hand of morn;
Daisies red and violets blue,
In the spring-time newly born.
Beautiful flowers, each ruddy lip
Inviteth the humming bee,
And I, like them, would nectar sip,—
Then, prithee, come talk to me.
“Tell me, oh, tell me, lovely flowers,