smell-less

Roses , their sharp spines being gone ,
Not royal in their smells alone ,
But in their hue ;
Maiden pinks , of odor faint ,
Daisies smell-less , yet most quaint ,
And sweet thyme true ;
Primrose , firstborn child of Ver ,
Merry springtime’s harbinger ,
With her bells dim ;
Oxlips in their cradles growing ,
Marigolds on deathbeds blowing ,
Lark’s-heels trim ;
All dear Nature’s children sweet
Lie ’fore bride and bridegroom’s feet ,

Blessing their sense .
Not an angel of the air ,
Bird melodious or bird fair ,
Is absent hence .
The crow , the sland’rous cuckoo , nor
The boding raven , nor chough hoar ,
Nor chatt’ring pie ,
May on our bridehouse perch or sing ,
Or with them any discord bring ,
But from it fly .