In Eastern lands they talk in flowers, 



And they tell in a garland their loves and cares; 



Each blossom that blooms in their garden bowers, 

 On its leaves a mystic language bears. 



PERCIVAL: The Language of Flowers. 



Art thou a type of beauty, or of power, 



Of sweet enjoyment, or disastrous sin? 

 For each thy name denoteth, Passion flower! 



O no ! thy pure corolla's depth within 

 We trace a holier symbol; yea, a sign 



' Twixt God and man; a record of that hour 

 When the expiatory act divine 



Cancelled that curse which was our mortal dower. 

 It is the Cross ! 



SIR AUBREY DE VERB: The Passion Flower. 



