The violets their soft, dark lashes part,
⁠While robins serenade them far and near;
But the anemone, with ebon heart
⁠And blood-shot eyes, pretends she does not hear.

The violets invite the nightingale
⁠Whose carols fall in dew upon their bed;
But the hydrangea, as saffron pale.
⁠Holds high above the wall her nodding head.