The laurels with their heritage of light,
So thickly planted in our garden-ground,
Like thee, in winter time make all things bright,
And strike each other with a cheery sound.
Well, then! Of these a garland shall be made
Just for the nonce, for they are fresh and green;
But soon a gayer coronal I'll braid,
When Summer comes to match thy merry mien:
Woodbine and jessamine shall then enclose
Thy fair young head, well woven with choicest art;
And many a sprig of verdure interpose,
And pinks and rich carnations bear their part,
White lilies, and the hollow balmy rose,
And pansy, with the day-spring at her heart.