Thomas Moore on Flowers

“While the myrtle, now idly entwin'd with his crown, Like the wreath of Harmodius, shall cover his sword.”

“Anemones and seas of gold, And new-blown lilies of the river, And those sweet flow'rets that unfold Their buds on Camadera's quiver.”

“Those virgin lilies, all the night Bathing their beauties in the lake, That they may rise more fresh and bright, When their beloved sun's awake.”

“The Wreath's of brightest myrtle wove With brilliant tears of bliss among it, And many a rose leaf cull'd by Love To heal his lips when bees have stung it.”

“The tuberose, with her silvery light, That in the gardens of Malay Is call'd the Mistress of the Night, So like a bride, scented and bright; She comes out when the sun's away.”

“Yet, no, not words, for they But half can tell love's feeling; Sweet flowers alone can say What passion fears revealing: A once bright rose's wither'd leaf, A tow'ring lily broken, , Oh, these may paint a grief No words could e'er have spoken.”