Forget-me-not, so small, so blue, so dear,
Thou speak’st a truth the boldest cannot hear.
No trumpet sounds thy name, nor crowd’s acclaim,
Yet lovers carve thee in the heart’s own frame.
Thy bloom is vow, thy leaf a quiet prayer,
A hope that memory might linger there.
O sweetest plea in all the garden writ:
“Forget me not, though time and fate commit.”