POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
125 
THE GARLAND. 
The pride of ev’ry grove I chose, 
The violet sweet, and lily fair, 
The dappl’d pink, and blushing rose, 
To deck my charming Cloe’s hair. 
At morn the nymph vouchsaf’d to place 
Upon her brow the various wreath ; 
The flow’rs less blooming than her face, 
The scent less fragrant than her breath. 
The flow’rs she wore along the day : 
And ev’ry nymph and shepherd said, 
That in her hair they look’d more gay, 
Than glowing in their native bed. 
Undress’d at evening, when she found 
Their odours lost, their colours past; 
She chang’d her look, and on the ground 
Her garland and her eye she cast. 
That eye dropt sense distinct and clear, 
As any Muse’s tongue could speak; 
When from it’s lid a pearly tear 
Ran trickling down her beauteous cheek. 
Dissembling what I knew too well, 
My love, my life, said I, explain 
This change of humour: pry’thee tell: 
That falling tear-What does it mean ? 
