Forget-me-not - The Language of Flowers

Forget-me-not.
A very pretty, but minute flower,
growing by the brook-sides. Colour, sky blue.
True Love.

Give not to weary thought the love
That should be solely mine;
Not tie thee of the shrinking dove
Thou call'st so fondly thine.
I know my words are weak and small-
For mind like thine unmeet;
But I have love beyond them all,
To lavish at thy feet.

Nay, heed it not, this foolish tear
That trembles in mine eye;
It always comes when thou art here,-
I know not how or why.
It is not grief, or pain, or joy,-
It comes of love, may be;
Then do not thou the spell destroy-
'Tis bliss to weep for thee!