Surely the flowers of a hundred springs 
Are simply the souls of beautiful things! 

The poppies aflame with gold and red 
Were the kisses of lovers in days that are fled. 

The purple pansies with dew-drops pearled 
Were the rainbow dreams of a youngling world. 

The lily, white as a star apart, 
Was the first pure prayer of a virgin heart. 

The daisies that dance and twinkle so 
Were the laughter of children in long ago. 

The sweetness of all true friendship yet 
Lives in the breath of the mignonette. 

To the white narcissus there must belong 
The very delight of a maiden's song. 

And the rose, all flowers of the earth above, 
Was a perfect, rapturous thought of love. 

Oh! surely the blossoms of all the springs 
Must be the souls of beautiful things.