Now upon the tree of life there rise Before our wondering eyes Two strange new flowers of varied hue. The tree is grown, The flowers are blown, There is nought wanting to its early sweetness; But with a fair completeness, The purple bloom and white Fill the entranced, admiring sight. The tree is grown, the tree is strong; Oh! dear to art and song! Fair time of Flowers! within whose chalice sweet Lurks Youth with rosy feet, And Love with purple folded wing, And birdlike thoughts that sing. |