Sweet Rhodoclea

Sweet Rhodoclea, here I send

A wreath wherein fair flowers blend:

I plucked and twined them all for thee;

The lily and anemone,

And the rose's crimson cup

With the night-dews brimming up;

Narcissus that the rain hath wet,

And the purple violet.

Then, with my garland on thy brow,

Forget to hold thy proud head high,

For though, like it, thou bloomest now,

Like it, thou too shalt fade and die.