To A Beautiful Child On Her Birthday, With A Wreath Of Flowers.

Whilst others give thee wond'rous toys,         Or jewels rich and rare,     I bring but flowers - more meet are they         For one so young and fair.     'Tis not because that snowy brow         Might with the lily vie,     Or violet match the starry glance         Of that dark, lustrous eye;     Nor yet because a brighter blush         E'en rose leaf never wore,     But 'tis that in their leaves lies hid         A rare and mystic lore.     And with its aid I now shall form         A wreath of flow'rets wild -     Graceful, and full of meaning sweet,         To deck thy brow, fair child!     The primrose, first, the emblem fit         Of budding, early youth;     The daisy in whose leaves we read         Pure innocence and truth.     The rosebud, sign of youthful charms,         We well may give to thee,     And with it join the sweet frail leaves         Of the shrinking sensitive tree.     And, tribute to thy modesty,         The violet emblem meet, -     Itself concealing, yet on all         Shedding its perfume sweet.     And for thy kind and gentle heart         We bring the jessamine,     To twine with ivy, ever green -         True friendship's sacred sign.     Thy wreath is formed - of blossoms bright         I've twined each link, and, yet,     Another flower I still must add,         The fragrant mignonnette,     Which says "However great the charms         That to thy lot may fall     Thy qualities of heart and mind         By far surpass them all."     Aye, be it thus, and ever may         This lovely wreath, as now -     Emblem of every precious gift -         Be fit to deck thy brow.     But, last and dearest, 'mid the buds         Of that bright varied lot     Must ever be, my gentle child,         The sweet forget-me-not!