Flowers Preach To Us If We Will

January Cold And Desolate; February Dripping Wet; March Wind Ranges; April Changes; Birds Sing In Tune To Flowers Of May, And Sunny June Brings Longest Day; In Scorched July The Storm-clouds Fly, Lightning-torn; August Bears Corn, September Fruit; In Rough October Earth Must Disrobe Her; Stars Fall And Shoot In Keen November; And Night Is Long And Cold Is Strong In Bleak December.

Observe This Dew-drenched Rose Of Tyrian Gardens A Rose Today. But You Will Ask In Vain Tomorrow What It Is; And Yesterday It Was The Dust, The Sunshine, And The Rains.

My Heart Is Like A Singing Bird Whose Nest Is In A Water'd Shoot; My Heart Is Like An Apple-tree Whose Boughs Are Bent With Thick-set Fruit.

As A Tree My Sin Stands To Darken All Lands; Death Is The Fruit It Bore.

My Heart Is Like A Singing Bird Whose Nest Is In A Water'd Shoot; My Heart Is Like An Apple-tree Whose Boughs Are Bent With Thick-set Fruit; My Heart Is Like A Rainbow Shell That Paddles In A Halcyon Sea; My Heart Is Gladder Than All These, Because My Love Is Come To Me. Raise Me A Daïs Of Silk And Down; Hang It With Vair And Purple Dyes; Carve It In Doves And Pomegranates, And Peacocks With A Hundred Eyes; Work It In Gold And Silver Grapes, In Leaves And Silver Fleurs-de-lys; Because The Birthday Of My Life Is Come, My Love Is Come To Me.