f lotuer?! for Ci^ougl^tjj 



To me the meanest flower that blows can give 

 Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears. 



William Wordsworth, 



I pluck the flowers I plucked of old 

 About my feet — yet fresh and cold 

 The Buttercups do bend; 

 The self-same Buttercups they seem. 

 Thick in the bright-eyed green, and such 

 As when to me their blissful gleam 

 Was all earth's gold — how much? 



Owen Meredith. 



Flowers preach to us if we will hear. 



Christina G. Rossetti. 



Flowers are Love's truest language; they betray 

 Like the divining-rods of Magi old. 

 Where precious wealth lies buried ; not of gold. 



But love — strong love, that never can decay! 



Park Benjamin. 



"Pray, love, remember: and there is pansies, that's 



for thoughts." Shakespeare. 



Of all the bonny buds that blow 



In bright or cloudy weather, 

 Of all the flowers that come and go 



The whole twelve moons together. 

 The little purple pansy brings 

 Thoughts of the sweetest, saddest things.^ 



Mary E. Bradley. 



Heart' s-ease ! one could look for half a day 

 Upon this flower, and shape in fancy out 

 Full twenty different tales of love and sorrow. 

 That gave this gentle name. j^^^^ jj^^m_ 



