Droop, Droop No More, Or Hang The Head, Ye Roses Almost Withered; Now Strength, And Newer Purple Get, Each Here Declining Violet. O Primroses! Let This Day Be A Resurrection Unto Ye; And To All Flowers Allied In Blood, Or Sworn To That Sweet Sisterhood. For Health On Julia'S Cheek Hath Shed Claret And Cream Commingled; And Those, Her Lips, Do Now Appear As Beams Of Coral, But More Clear.