Welcome, dear Heart, and a most kind good-morrow;

The day is gloomy, but our looks shall shine:—

Flowers I have none to give thee, but I borrow

Their sweetness in a verse to speak for thine.

Here are red roses, gather’d at thy cheeks —

The white were all too happy to look white:

For love the rose, for faith the lily speaks;

It withers in false hands, but here ’tis bright!

Dost love sweet Hyacinth? Its scented leaf

Curls manifold — all love’s delights blow double:

’Tis said this flow’ret is inscribed with grief —

But let that hint of a forgotten trouble.