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In graceful chaplets round
The Lovers as they walked;
And with soft glances more than words,
They eloquently talked.
The Knight had dwelt in southern climes
Beneath a warmer sun,
And learned the language of the Flowers,
And fancies many a one
That Poet-Lovers gave
To herb, and leaf, and flower,
That they might Love's ambassadors
Be in the fair-one's bower.
Without a line of written vows
Fond hearts were oft-times plighted;
And flowers, too, could tell whene'er
A proffered suit was slighted.
The Heartsease promised "perfect love;"
Hope in the Hawthorn lay;
Despair and death with hemlock dwelt,
And glory claimed the Bay.—
And so to all the garden's hues
Some fair conceit was given,
By which young Cupid's bonds might be
Locked closer still, or riven.
