Floral Poetry, 
For that ne’er tells of what has been, 
But warns me what I soon shall be ; 
It looks not back on pleasure’s scene, 
But points unto futurity. 
I love thee not, thou simple flower, 
For thou art gay, and I am lone; 
Thy beauty died with childhood’s hour— 
The Heart’s-ease from my path is gone. 
Anon. 
HEART’S-EASE. 
I SAW, 
Flying between the cold moon and the earth, 
Cupid all armed • a certain aim he took 
At a fair vessel throned in the west, 
And loosed his love-shaft smartly from his bow, 
As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts. 
But I might see young Cupid’s fiery shaft 
Quenched in the chaste beams of the watery moon, 
And the imperial vot’ress passed on, 
In maiden meditation, fancy-free. 
Yet marked I where the bolt of Cupid fell : 
It fell upon a little western flower, 
Before milk-white, now purple with Love’s wound, 
And maidens call it Love in Idleness. 
The juice of it, on sleeping eyelids laid, 
Will make a man or woman madly dote 
Upon the next live creature that it sees. 
Shakspere. 
