37 
THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
^ arnation, laced with many a streak 
Of blooming red on its leaflets bright, 
May be a type of her mantling cheek, 
Blent with a brow of pearly white. 
T — ansy, though humble an herb it be, 
Look not upon it with scornful eye ; 
On virtue that lurks in low degree, 
A glance should fall kind from those on 
high. 
0 — live, thy branch, dove-borne, o’er the 
foam, 
Was a sign for the surges of death to cease; 
So from the lips of our dove Bhould come 
The soft, but the sure command of peace. 
R — oses of England, ceasing from fight, 
Twine round her brow, in whose veins are 
met 
The princely blood those roses unite 
In the veins of the noblest Plantagenet. 
