Love-lies-bleeding thrives apace
With the dear forget-me-not:
Nor is boy’s love out of place
Now in any garden plot.
Love-in-a-mist, bewilderèd
With the many tears Love shed,
Seeks for herb-o’-grace to bind
Up her wounds, and fever-few
To give ease to a hurt mind;
Wound-wort is not wanting too.
Now the love-lies-bleeding grows
More than lily or the rose;
Love-in-idleness has gone
Out of fashion; here are flowers
Heartsease for to rest upon
With remembrance of sweet hours.
Ladders-to-heaven may be found
Now in any common ground.