1 8 THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 



A letter comes just gather'd, we 



Doat on its tender brilliancy ; 



Inhale its delicate expression 



Of balm and pea ; and its confession, 



Made with as sweet a maiden blush 



As ever morn bedew' d on bush ; 



And then when we have kiss'd its wit 



And heart, in water putting it, 



To keep its remarks fresh, go round 



Our little eloquent plot of ground ! 



And with delighted hands compose 



Our answer, all of lily and rose, 



Of tuberose and of violet, 



And little darling mignonette ; 



And gratitude, and polyanthus, 



And flowers that say, * * Felt never man thus ! 



