There's rosemary, that's for remembrance;
pray, love, remember:
and there is pansies.
That's for thoughts.
There's fennel for you, and columbines:
there's rue for you; and here's some for me:
we may call it herb-grace o' Sundays:
O you must wear your rue with a difference.
There's a daisy:
I would give you some violets,
but they withered all when my father died:
they say he made a good end.