Bridal Song

ROSES, their sharp spines being gone,

Not royal in their smells alone,

But in their hue;

Maiden pinks, of odour faint,

Daisies smell-less, yet most quaint,

And sweet thyme true;

Primrose, firstborn child of Ver;

Merry springtime's harbinger,

With her bells dim;

Oxlips in their cradles growing,

Marigolds on death-beds blow...