O Lady, Leave Thy Silken Thread And Flowery Tapestrie: There'S Living Roses On The Bush, And Blossoms On The Tree; Stoop Where Thou Wilt, Thy Careless Hand Some Random Bud Will Meet; Thou Canst Not Tread, But Thou Wilt Find The Daisy At Thy Feet. 'Tis Like The Birthday Of The World, When Earth Was Born In Bloom; The Light Is Made Of Many Dyes, The Air Is All Perfume; There'S Crimson Buds, And White And Blue - The Very Rainbow Showers Have Turn'D To Blossoms Where They Fell, And Sown The Earth With Flowers. There'S Fairy Tulips In The East, The Garden Of The Sun; The Very Streams Reflect The Hues, And Blossom As They Run: While Morn Opes Like A Crimson Rose, Still Wet With Pearly Showers; Then, Lady, Leave The Silken Thread Thou Twinest Into Flowers!