The royal Lily's sceptred cup besought an airy lip, The Rose's stooping coyness told the bee was at her heart, While all the other sisters round, with many a dainty dip, Sought jewels hidden in the grass, and waved its spears apart. "We seek a queen," the Lily said, "and she shall wear the crown Who to the Mission of the Blest the fairest right shall prove; For unto her, whoe'er she be, has come in sunlight down The badge of Nature's Royalty, from angel hands above. "I go to deck the wreath that binds a fair, imperial brow, Whose whiteness shall not be the less that mine is purer still; For though a band of sparkling gems is set upon it now, 'Twill be the fairer that the Church in me beholds her will." "I claim a loyal suitor's touch," the Rose ingenuous said, "And he will choose me when he seeks the bow'r of lady fair, To match me, with a smile, against her cheek's betraying red, And place me, with a kiss, within the shadows of her hair." And next the proud Camellia spoke: "Where festal music swells, And solemn priest, with gown and book, a knot eternal ties, I go to hold the vail of her who hears her marriage-bells, And pledges all her life unto the Love that never dies." The Laurels raised their glowing heads, and into language broke: "'Tis ours to honor gallant deeds that awe a crouching world; We rest upon the warrior's helm when fades the battle's smoke, And bloom perennial on the shield that back the foeman hurled." And other sisters of the field, the woodland, and the vale, Each told the story of her work, and glorified her quest; But none of all the noble ones had yet revealed the tale That taught them from the gods she wore the signet in her breast. At length the zephyr raised a leaf, the lowliest of the low, And there, behold a Violet the Spring let careless slip; Beyond its season blooming there where newer beauties grow, Enshrined like an immortal thought that lives beyond the lip. "We greet thy presence, little one," the graceful Lily said, And quivered with a silent laugh behind her snowy screen, "Upraise unto the open sun thy modest little head; For here, perchance, in thee at last the Flow'rs have found their queen." A tremor shook the timid flower, and soft her answer came: "'Tis but a simple duty left to one so small as I; And yet I would not yield it up for all the higher fame Of nodding on a hero's helm, or catching beauty's eye. "I go to where an humble mound uprises in a field, To mark the place of one whose life was lost a land to save; Where bannered pomp no birth attests, nor marbled sword nor shield; I go to deck," the Violet said, "a simple soldier's grave."