  I sometimes think I love the rose More than all other flowers, Because its fragrance falls on me In copious, dainty showers; And blushing in its modesty, I press it to my heart, As the idol of my dalliance That should no more depart. But when I see the lily fair— The meadow's beauteous queen— Surrounded by her myriad friends All dressed in Nature's green, My heart goes out in ecstasy, And naught on earth to me Seems fairer type of loveliness, Than this daughter of th' lea. When bright snow-flake-petaled daisy, Whose heart of yellow gold, Is richer vein of pure delight Than miner-kings may hold, Sends out her invitation warm, To search in her domain For berries like a bleeding heart, I cannot well decline. And then the graceful goldenrod With flaunting, sun-lit plume, Whose lateness lends a special joy And sweetness to its bloom, Invites me with its wind-blown nod, To be its devotee, With honesty I must confess It has a charm for me. There's a heaven-born flower—the aster, That drinks nocturnal dews From late autumn's chilly fountains, And steals the sunset hues; It smiles from wayside tangles And coyly casts its eyes, Yet holds me by its modesty A voluntary prize. I know not which I love the most,— I know I love them all,— For God hath given each its grace, And each its special call; Each has a mission to perform, A purpose and an end, And sweet is the companionship Of each bright flower-friend. |
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