In graceful chaplets round 
The Lovers as they walked; 
And with soft glances more than words, 
They eloquently talked. 
The Knight had dwelt in southern climes 
Beneath a warmer sun. 
And learned the language of the Flowers, 
And fancies many a one 
The Poet-Lovers gave 
To herb, and leaf, and flower. 
That they might Love’s ambassadors 
Be in the fair-one’s bower. 
Without a line of written vows 
Fond hearts were oft-times plighted; 
And flowers, too, could tell whene’er 
A proffered suit was slighted. 
The Fleartsease promised “ perfect love 
Hope in the Hawthorn lay; 
Despair and death with Hemlock dwelt. 
And glory claimed the Bay.— 
And so to all the garden’s hues 
Some fair conceit was given. 
By which young Cupid’s bonds might be 
Locked closer still, or riven. 
