I praise the tender flower

I praise the tender flower
That on a mournful day
Bloomed in my garden bower
And made the winter gay
Its loveliness contented
My heart tormented
I praise the gentle maid
Whose happy voice and smile
To confidence betrayed
My doleful heart awhile;
And gave my spirit deploring
Fresh wings for soaring
The maid for very fear
Of love I durst not tell:
The rose could never hear
Though I bespake her well:
So in my song I bind them
For all to find them