STATE POMOLOGTCAL SOCIETY. 49 



fold transformations of the most obdurate material*;, and the trans- 

 fusion through all of a subtle element in life. Long stories may be 

 told over the engravings of Karnak and its lotus columns ; over the 

 acanthus-wreathed temples of the Greeks and the doors of cedar, 

 the gold and silver leaves, the sculptured lilies and pomegranates of 

 the Jewish temple. Moorish architects wrought delicateW in leaves 

 and flowers, and the grand Gothic builders, in the expression of re- 

 ligious faith and aspiration, sought all their designs in nature, as if 

 the\' had the feeling of the Swedish poet Tegner : ''We thank Thee, 

 O God, that we are permitted to think thy thoughts after thee." 



There is no literature without flowers. Many of our words have 

 been suggested by plant-life, and writers are lovers of flowers- 

 Chaucer loved best the blooming month of May. Spencer sang, 



"Strew me the ground with daffbdowndillies, 

 And cowslips, and kingcups and loved lilies." 



The dais}', the cowslip, the daffodil, the lily and the rose have been 

 sung over and over again by the English poets, and not a voice among 

 them all would we like to miss. Sweet peas and poppies have not 

 been forgotten. All the dear common flowers have their places in. 

 our literature. Ever}' one is familiar with the 



"Flowers purple, blue, and white, 

 Like sapphire, pearl and rich embroidery," 



that grace the wisdom of Shakespeare, and adorn the stateU^ verse 

 of Milton. 



Cowper, who lived very near to nature, has given warmth and 

 color to one of his winter poems by a few lines on the brilliant sum- 

 mer flowers, that were missed from the landscape. 



There are sweet flower-passages from the Lake poets. Mrs,.. 

 Browning writes of 



"A thousand flowers each seeming one 

 That learnt by gazing on the sun 

 To counterfeit his shining." 



Tennyson so loves the violet that he can find it in the dark. With 

 the rose and the lil}-, it blooms beneath the cypress shade of "In 

 Memoriam." He associates a beautiful truth with the thistle. 



"Not once or twice in our rough island-story. 

 The path of duty was the way to glory. 

 He that walks it, only thirsting 



