Welcome, Dear Heart, And A Most Kind Good-Morrow

Welcome, dear Heart, and a most kind good-morrow; The day is gloomy, but our looks shall shine:— Flowers I have none to give thee, but I borrow Their sweetness in a verse to speak for thine. Here are red roses, gather'd at thy cheeks,— The white were all too happy to look white: For love the rose, for faith the lily speaks; It withers in false hands, but here 'tis bright! Dost love sweet Hyacinth? Its scented leaf Curls manifold,—all love's delights blow double: 'Tis said this flow'ret is inscribed with grief,— But let that hint of a forgotten trouble. I pluck'd the Primrose at night's dewy noon; Like Hope, it show'd its blossoms in the night;— 'Twas, like Endymion, watching for the Moon! And here are Sun-flowers, amorous of light! These golden Buttercups are April's seal,— The Daisy-stars her constellations be: These grew so lowly, I was forced to kneel, Therefore I pluck no Daisies but for thee! Here's Daisies for the morn, Primrose for gloom Pansies and Roses for the noontide hours:— A wight once made a dial of their bloom,— So may thy life be measured out by flowers!