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.