Token Flowers.



Token Flowers.


    Oh, not the daisy, for the love of God!
    Take not the daisy; let it bloom apace
    Untouch'd alike by splendour or disgrace
    Of party feud. Its stem is not a rod;
    And no one fears, or hates it, on the sod.
    It laughs, exultant, in the Morning's face,
    And everywhere doth fill a lowly place,
    Though fraught with favours for the darkest clod.
    'Tis said the primrose is a party flower,
    And means coercion, and the coy renown
    Of one who toil'd for country and for crown.
    This may be so! But, in my Lady's bower,
    It means content, - a hope, - a golden hour.
    Primroses smile; and daisies cannot frown!

Eric Mackay

Eric Mackay, born on June 1, 1851, was a noted English poet whose work gained recognition in the late 19th century. He is best known for his sonnets and lyrical poetry, which were celebrated for their emotional depth and technical mastery. His most famous work, 'Love Letters of a Violinist,' was well-received during his lifetime. Mackay's contributions to English literature have been acknowledged for their artistic merit. He passed away on June 8, 1898.

Eric Mackay

A Lover's Litanies - Second Litany. Vox Amorís.[1]

Eric Mackay, Simple Poetry

A Lover's Litanies - Tenth Litany. Gloria in Excelsis.

Eric Mackay, Simple Poetry

Beethoven At The Piano.

Eric Mackay, Simple Poetry

La Zingarella. (Italian Poems)

Eric Mackay, Simple Poetry

English

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To ----

Welcome, dear Heart, and a most kind good-morrow;
The day is gloomy, but our looks shall shine: -
Flowers I have none to give thee, but I borrow
Their sweetness in a verse to speak for thine.

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Flowers.

Spake full well, in language quaint and olden,
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When he called the flowers, so blue and golden,
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Stars they are, wherein we read our history,
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Pleasures newly found are sweet
When they lie about our feet:
February last, my heart
First at sight of thee was glad;
All unheard of as thou art,
Thou must needs, I think, have had,
Celandine! and long ago,
Praise of which I nothing know.

I have not a doubt but he,
Whosoe'er the man might be,
Who the first with pointed rays
(Workman worthy to be sainted)
Set the sign-board in a blaze,
When the rising sun he painted,
Took the fancy from a glance
At thy glittering countenance.

Soon as gentle breezes bring
News of winter's vanishing,
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Flowers.

I will not have the mad Clytie,
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The violet is a nun; -
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The pea is but a wanton witch,
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