Flowers

I will not have the mad Clytie, Whose head is turned by the sun; The tulip is a courtly queen, Whom, therefore, I will shun; The cowslip is a country wench, The violet is a nun; - But I will woo the dainty rose, The queen of everyone. The pea is but a wanton witch, In too much haste to wed, And clasps her rings on every hand The wolfsbane I should dread; - Nor will I dreary rosemary That always mourns the dead; - But I will woo the dainty rose, With her cheeks of tender red. The lily is all in white, like a saint, And so is no mate for me - And the daisy's cheek is tipped with blush, She is of such low degree; Jasmine is sweet, and has many loves, And the broom's betrothed to the bee; - But I will plight with the dainty rose, For fairest of all is she.