Flowers

Flowers

The daisy scatter'd on each mead and down, A golden tuft within a silver crown; (Fair fall that dainty flower! and may there be No shepherd grac'd that doth not honour thee!) The primrose, when with six leaves gotten grace Maids as a true-love in their bosoms place; The spotless lily, by whose pure leaves be Noted the chaste thoughts of virginity; Carnations sweet with colour like the fire, The fit impresas for inflam'd desire; The harebell for her stainless azur'd hue Claims to be worn of none but those are true; The rose, like ready youth, enticing stands. And would be cropp'd if it might choose the hands, The yellow kingcup Flora them assign'd To be the badges of a jealous mind; The orange-tawny marigold: the night Hides not her colour from a searching sight. . . . The columbine in tawny often taken. Is then ascrib'd to such as are forsaken; Flora's choice buttons of a russet dye Is hope even in the depth of misery. From Britannia's Pastorals.