'Y' Are The Maiden Posies

Welcome, maids of honour,
You do bring
In the Spring;
And wait upon her.

She has virgins many,
Fresh and fair;
Yet you are
More sweet than any.

You're the maiden posies;
And so graced,
To be placed
'Fore damask roses.

Yet, though thus respected,
By and by
Ye do lie,
Poor girls, neglected.

    "Welcome, maids of honor,
    You do bring
    In the spring,
    And wait upon her.
    She has virgins many,
    Fresh and fair,
    Yet you are
    More sweet than any."

    "Here is the bracelet
    For good little May
    To wear on her arm
    By night and by day.
    When it shines like the sun,
    All's going well;
    But when you are bad,
    A sharp prick will tell.
    Farewell, little girl,
    For now we must part.
    Make a fairy-box, dear,
    Of your own happy heart;
    And take out for all
    Sweet gifts every day,
    Till all the year round
    Is like beautiful May."

    "Sweet are the flowers of life,
    Swept o'er my happy days at home;
    Sweet are the flowers of life
    When I was a little child.


    "Sweet are the flowers of life
    That I spent with my father at home;
    Sweet are the flowers of life
    When children played about the house.


    "Sweet are the flowers of life
    When the lamps are lighted at night;
    Sweet are the flowers of life
    When the flowers of summer bloomed.


    "Sweet are the flowers of life
    Dead with the snows of winter;
    Sweet are the flowers of life
    When the days of spring come on.

    (1) These lines were actually composed by a six-year old child.

"We are sending you, dear flowers,
Forth alone to die,
Where your gentle sisters may not weep
O'er the cold graves where you lie;
But you go to bring them fadeless life
In the bright homes where they dwell,
And you softly smile that 't is so,
As we sadly sing farewell.

O plead with gentle words for us,
And whisper tenderly
Of generous love to that cold heart,
And it will answer ye;
And though you fade in a dreary home,
Yet loving hearts will tell
Of the joy and peace that you have given:
Flowers, dear flowers, farewell!"

    'Sweetest of maidens, oh, how can I tell
    The love that transfigures the whole earth to me?
    The longing that causes my bosom to swell,
    When I dream of a life all devoted to thee?'