8
We are wreathed in her hair
By the hands loved best,
Or clustered with care
On her gentle breast:
And oh! what gems can so well adorn
The fair-haired girl on her bridal morn?
Blooming in sunshine, and growing in showers,
Dancing in breezes—we gay young Flowers!
How oft doth an emblem-bud silently tell
What language could never speak half so well!
E'en sister flow'rs envy the favoured lot
Of that blue-eyed darling, Forget-me-not.
Her name is now grown a charmed word,
By whose echo the holiest "thoughts are stirred."
Come forth in the Spring,
And our wild haunts seek,
When the wood-birds sing,
And the blue skies break:
Come forth to the hill—the wood—the vale—
Where we merrily dance in the sportive gale!
Oh! come to the rivers rim, come to us there,
For the white water-lily is wondrous fair,
With her large broad leaves on the stream afloat
(Each one a capacious fairy-boat),
The swan among Flowers! how stately ride
