Sweet bloom the flowers on Ilka hill
And nature smiling fresh and fair
Invites the Botanist abroad,
To view her treasures rich and rare,
So I'll explore the verdant lawns
And cull the flowers that first appear
Then twine a garland, love for thee --
Sweet Mary -- first flower of the year.

The snowdrop first of snowy white
Shall fringe my love-expressive wreath,
The primrose and the crocus too
I'll fondly mingle with the heath.
The cowslip from the flowery mead,
To show thy sweet attractive grace
The bluebell to express that love
Which changeful time can ne'er efface.

The Hawthorne -- hope and blossomed pear
Entwining with the fragrant Pea
Shall breathe affections purest strains
And like the Ivy, cling to thee.
The garden too shall yield its sweets
The pansy and the violet --
Forget-me-not with mint and rue
Rich roses and sweet mignionette.

Ascending now yon rocky steep
I'll pluck the balmy-scented thyme
And guard my consecrated wreath
With Holly, and with Eglantine.
Then fondly in some cool retreat
Hard by yon streamlet wimpling clear
I'll snatch the kiss and crown my love,
Sweet Mary -- first flower of the year.