Three flowers in my garden grew;
A lily, pansy, and a rose.
I questioned Psyche: “Tell me true,
Which is most beautiful of those?”

The lily, hearing, reared its head.
“Behold the charm of grace,” it cried.
“Voluptuous beauty here is bred.”
The blushing rose as quick replied.

The pansy, drooping on its stem,
Concealed its face with modest start.
“Alas!” I said, “pride ruins them”
I wear the pansy in my heart.