Floral Poetry. 
HERE’S FLOWERS FOR YOU. 
Perdita. . . . Here’s flowers for you : 
Hot Lavender, Mints, Savory, Marjoram : 
The Marigold, that goes to bed with the sun, 
And with him rises weeping; these are flowers 
Of middle summer, and, I think, they are given 
To men of middle age : you are very welcome. 
Camillo. I should leave grazing, were I of your flock, 
And only live by gazing. 
Perdita. Out, alas ! 
You’d be so lean, that blasts of January 
Would blow you through and through.—Now, my fairest 
friend, 
I would I had some flowers o’ the Spring, that might 
Become your time of day; and yours, and yours ; 
That wear upon your virgin branches yet 
Your maidenheads growing :—O, Proserpina, 
For the flowers now, that, frighted, thou lett’st fall 
From Dis’s waggon ! Daffodils, 
That come before the swallow dares, and take 
The winds of March with beauty ; Violets, dim, 
But sweeter than the lids of Juno’s eyes, 
Or Cytherea’s breath; pale Primroses, 
That die unmarried, ere they can behold 
Bright Phoebus in his strength, a malady 
Most incident to maids ; bold Oxlips, and 
The Crown-imperial; Lilies of all kinds, 
The Flower-de-luce being one ! Oh ! these I lack, 
To make you garlands of; and, my sweet friend, 
To strew him o’er and o’er. 
Shakspere, “A Winter's Tale .” 
