The Flowers' Ball

There is an olden story,'Tis a legend, so I'm told,How the flowers gave a banquet,In the ivied days of old;How the posies gave a party onceThat wound up with a ball,How they held it in a valley,Down in "Flowery Kingdom Hall."

The flowers of every clime were there,Of high and low degree,All with their petals polished,In sweet aromatic glee.They met down in this woodlandIn the soft and ambient air,Each in its lolling loveliness,Exhaled a perfume rare.

An orchestra of Blue BellsSat upon a mossy knollAnd pealed forth gentle musicThat quite captured every soul.The Holly hocked a pistilJust to buy a suit of clothes,And danced with all the floweretsBut the modest, blushing Rose.

The Morning Glory shiningSeemed reflecting all the glowOf dawn, and took a partner;It was young Miss Mistletoe.Miss Maggie Nolia from the SouthDanced with Forget-me-not;Sweet William took Miss Pink in towAnd danced a slow gavotte.

Thus everything went swimmingly'Mongst perfumed belles and beaux,And every floweret reveled saveThe modest, blushing Rose.Miss Fuchsia sat around and toldFor floral emulation,That she had actually refusedTo dance with A. Carnation.

The Coxcomb, quite a dandy there,Began to pine and mope,Until he had been introducedTo young Miss Heliotrope.Sir Cactus took Miss Lily,And he swung her so aboutShe asked Sweet Pea to CauliflowerAnd put the Cactus out.

Miss Pansy took her PoppyAnd she waltzed him down the lineTill they ran against old SunflowerWith Miss Honeysuckle Vine.The others at the party thatWent whirling through the mazyWere the Misses Rhodo Dendron,Daffodil and little Daisy.

Miss Petunia, Miss Verbena, Violet,And sweet Miss DahliaCame fashionably late, arrayedIn very rich regalia.Miss Begonia, sweet Miss Buttercup,Miss Lilac and Miss Clover;Young Dandelion came in lateWhen all the feast was over.

The only flower that sent regretsAnd really couldn't come,Who lived in the four hundred, wasThe vain Chrysanthemum.One floweret at the tableGrew quite ill, we must regret,And every posy wondered, too,Just what Miss Mignonette.

Young Tulip chose Miss OrchidFrom the first, and did not partWith her until Miss Mary GoldFell with a Bleeding Heart.But ah! Miss Rose sat pensivelyTill every young bud passed her;When just to fill the last quadrille,The China Aster.