Dear, I do not send you flowers,

Though I notice day by day

That, 'neath Spring's recurring powers,

All the shops are perfect bowers

With the floral wealth of May;

I could get you quite a heap,

Fresh and reasonably cheap.

Here is many a fragrant rose

Mingling with the scented pea,

Hyacinths whose odour flows

Fondly to the grateful nose,

These, and many more, there be;

You should have them like a shot,

But I think you'd bettor not.

Science 'tis that bids me pause;

'Tis by her the tale is told

That, by Nature's mystic laws,

Blossoms are a frequent cause

Of a lady catching cold;

Their aroma, so she says,

Irritates the passages.

Whether this is quite exact

May be food for questioning;

But, as it's a painful fact

That your membrane is attacked

Thus about the prime of Spring,

I, who hold your welfare dear,

May not leave it with a sneer.

Wherefore, much though I aspire

You, and you alone, to please,

I refrain from this desire,

For 'twould set my heart on fire

If I made my lady wheeze;

I should well-nigh perish if

Aught from me should rouse a sniff.