They May Talk Of Their Flowers Poem by Mary Anne Browne

They may talk of their flowers, and the crimson that blushes,
The Queen of the garden, the rose on its tree ; -
But while I'm possess'd of thy innocent blushes,
I care for none else,- they're the roses for me.

They may talk of their diamond that beams in the mine ;
It sparkling and glowing and brilliant may be ; -
But while thy dear eyes with benevolence shine,
I care for none else, -they're the diamonds for me.

They may talk, if they will, of their Venus resplendent
With beauty and life, as she sprang from the sea ;
They may talk of the cestus, her graceful attendant ; -
But Love is the cestus that binds me to thee.