'Tis early dawn - and all around
  Bright dewy flowers I view,
Uprising from the fertile ground,
  Of every form and hue.
The waving trees in silken sheen
  Unfold their blossoms gay;
And on each festooned bough are seen
  Young minstrel birds at play.

The vale, and hill, and balmy grove,
  With dewy gems are bright;
In mountain wilds, where'er we rove,
  Beauty attracts our sight;
The caroling of happy birds
  More joyous makes the scene;
And pleasant 'tis to view the herds
  Trip round the velvet green.

'Tis morn - I trace the rosy aisles
  Of yonder garden rare;
Each swelling bud seems fraught with smiles
  That thinking hearts may share.
The tall carnation pink is by,
  With breath of incense sweet,
Unfolding splendors to each eye
That will its beauties greet.

I sit me by the tulip mound
  Where Fancy sheds her light;
Here gems of every tint abound,
  Most charming to the sight.
The lily of the valley, too,
  And the forget-me-not,
Come forth as stars of light anew
  To gild the garden spot.

The damask rose and myrtle flowers,
  Narcissus and sweet pea,
With lustre shine in garden bowers,
  As stars shine on the sea.
Nature in loveliness appears,
  To gladden every mind;
She may dispel our sighs and tears;
  True joys in her we find.

'Tis noon - I rest by purling stream,
  Where grows the ivy vine;
Here oft I've strayed in youthful dream,
  Plucking the couumbine.
O, I will sing of flowers - a theme
  For loftiest pen to dwell;
How faint must weaker efforts seem
  Their charms divine to tell!

Where is the hand would crush a flower,
  Unheedful of its worth?
He who outpours the genial shower
  Is author of its birth.
O, bring me flowers when the last,
  Last pulse has told its tale;
They'll cheer the scene amid the blast
  That turns the features pale.