FLORAL ENVOY.
To F. B.
I.This envoy of flowers,A deputy meet,Your birthday, my friend,Is instructed to greet,And my kindliest wishesTo kindly repeat.—Interpret arightIn friendship’s white lightWhat the beautiful flowersWould say, could they speak.The sensitive flowers,All voiceless and weak,—Their meaning, involvedIn their bloom and their breath,Despairing to utter,They haste to their death.II.The sweet-scented flowersMust droop and decay,But not what their delicatePantings would say.The messenger fails,But the message survives—An essence, a spirit,That throbs in the livesOf atoms too subtileFor kinship with clay.III.All kindly emotion,That passes the portalOf a heart that is truthful,Is thenceforth immortal:In its mute transmigrationFrom age unto age,In the love of the maidIn the thought of the sage,It blossoms afresh,It persists without end,Joins lover to lover,Binds friend unto friend.Then, seeing that flowersAnd words are but weak,Take care that to-night,You interpret arightWhat the sensitive flowersWould say could they speak.
I.This envoy of flowers,A deputy meet,Your birthday, my friend,Is instructed to greet,And my kindliest wishesTo kindly repeat.—Interpret arightIn friendship’s white lightWhat the beautiful flowersWould say, could they speak.The sensitive flowers,All voiceless and weak,—Their meaning, involvedIn their bloom and their breath,Despairing to utter,They haste to their death.II.The sweet-scented flowersMust droop and decay,But not what their delicatePantings would say.The messenger fails,But the message survives—An essence, a spirit,That throbs in the livesOf atoms too subtileFor kinship with clay.III.All kindly emotion,That passes the portalOf a heart that is truthful,Is thenceforth immortal:In its mute transmigrationFrom age unto age,In the love of the maidIn the thought of the sage,It blossoms afresh,It persists without end,Joins lover to lover,Binds friend unto friend.Then, seeing that flowersAnd words are but weak,Take care that to-night,You interpret arightWhat the sensitive flowersWould say could they speak.
I.This envoy of flowers,A deputy meet,Your birthday, my friend,Is instructed to greet,And my kindliest wishesTo kindly repeat.—Interpret arightIn friendship’s white lightWhat the beautiful flowersWould say, could they speak.The sensitive flowers,All voiceless and weak,—Their meaning, involvedIn their bloom and their breath,Despairing to utter,They haste to their death.
II.The sweet-scented flowersMust droop and decay,But not what their delicatePantings would say.The messenger fails,But the message survives—An essence, a spirit,That throbs in the livesOf atoms too subtileFor kinship with clay.
III.All kindly emotion,That passes the portalOf a heart that is truthful,Is thenceforth immortal:In its mute transmigrationFrom age unto age,In the love of the maidIn the thought of the sage,It blossoms afresh,It persists without end,Joins lover to lover,Binds friend unto friend.Then, seeing that flowersAnd words are but weak,Take care that to-night,You interpret arightWhat the sensitive flowersWould say could they speak.