I give thee, love, a blooming braid;
I cull'd it at eve's 'witching hour;
I twin'd it in the moon's sweet shade,
When starlight dew was on each flower.
I chose the myrtle's fadeless leaf,
For it will picture faith to thee;
I chose the cypress—'tis like grief—
And that may well my emblem be.
I place the violet in my wreath—
Its sigh is memory's perfume;
I place the rose, for its sweet breath
Survives its beauty's passing bloom.
Oh! not a flower is here entwin'd,
That lays not on thy thought a spell:
Forget-me-not, the wreath shall bind—
Forget me not, is Love's farewell.