In Eastern lands they talk in flow'rs
And they tell in a garland their loves and cares;
Each blossom that blooms in their garden bow’rs
On its leaves a mystic language bears

The Rose is a sign of joy and love --
Young blushing love in its earliest dawn;
And the mildness that suits the gentle dove
From the Myrtle's snowy flow'rs is drawn

Innocence gleams in the Lily’s bell
Pure as the heart in its native heaven;
Fame's bright star and glory's swell
By the glossy leaf of the Bay are given

The silent, soft, and humble heart
In the Violet's hidden sweetness breathes;
And the tender soul that cannot part
In a twine of Evergreen fondly wreathes

The Cypress that daily shades the grave
Is sorrow that moans her bitter lot;
And faith that a thousand ills can brave
Speaks in thy blue leaves, Forget-me-not

Then gather a wreath from the garden bowers
And tell the wish of thy heart in flowers