Majestic is the royal rose
and lovely is the lily.
The daisy’s a delight that grows
upon the land so hilly.
A tulip field’s a sunset gold,
poor poppies’ hearts are bleeding.
The orchid is for luck, we’re told,
a weed, no one is needing.
The lotus is the Buddha’s bloom,
for love and peace is praying;
it thrives among the grime and gloom
in sacred breezes swaying.
The heather, on the heath, beguiles,
blithe buttercups have beauty.
The snowdrop in the snow, she smiles,
but only out of duty.
We leave it to the sweetest thing:
the violet, fresh from sleeping
to sing to us the song of spring,
with joy to end all weeping!