In vain for me the queen of flow’rs
Laughs amid her fragrant bow’rs,
And graceful, near the blooming queen
The lily’s beauteous form is seen;
The fringed pink, the eglantine
Are sweet, and sweet the jessamine,
But none of these my fancy move
For different is the flower I love.
But quit awhile the gay parterre
And all the courtly beauties there,
To wander by yon gliding stream,
Where lovers, and where poets dream,
Amidst the leafy canopy
Sits love, and sings their lullaby,
There dearest Stella is my bow’r
And there you’ll find my darling flow’r.
The flow’ret from its lowly bed
Scarce lifts its unassuming head
But freely all its sweetness lends
To her who o’er its beauty bends
Sweet type of him whose humble name
Is yet unknown to pow’r or fame
Who straying once in pensive mood,
Descried this flower, its beauty view’d
Then pluck’d it from its native shade
And bore it to his much lov’d maid.
Sweet was the moment, and the hour,
But sweeter still, this little flower.