82 THE LANGUAGE OP FLOWERS. 
Their language ? Prythee ! why they are them- 
selveo 
But bright thoughts syllabled to shape and 
hue, 
The tongue that erst was spoken by the elves, 
When tenderness as yet within the world 
was new. 
And oh, do not their soft and starry eyes — 
Now bent to earth, to heaven now meekly 
pleading, 
Their incense fainting as it seeks the skies, 
Yet still from earth with freshning hope re- 
ceding — 
Say, do not these to every heart declare, 
With all the silent eloquence of truth, 
The language that they speak is Nature’s 
prayer, 
To give her back those spotless days of 
youth ? 
