48 THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
From humble violet, modest thyme 
Exhaled, the essential odours climb, 
As if no space below the sky 
Their subtle flight could satisfy : 
Heaven will not tax our thoughts with pride, 
If like ambition be their guide. 
***** 
THE FLOWER SPIRITS. 
ANON. 
We are the spirits that dwell in the flowers ; 
Ours is the exquisite music that flies, 
When silence and moonlight reign over the 
bowers, 
That bloom in the glory of tropical skies. 
AVe woo the bird with his melody glowing, 
To leap in the sunshine and warble its 
strain ; 
And ours is the odour, in turn, that bestow- 
ing. 
The songster is paid for his music again. 
