THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 29 
Or, woulds’t thou turn to earth 1 Not earth all 
furrowed 
By the old traces of man’s toil and care, 
But the green peaceful world, that neversorrowed, 
The world of leaves, and dews, and summer air. 
Boot on these flowers ! As o’er an altar shedding 
O’er Milton’s page, soft light from coloured 
urns ! 
They are the links, man’s heart to nature wed- 
ding, 
When to her breast the prodigal returns. 
They are from lone wild places, forest-dingles, 
Fresh bank of many a low-voiced hidden 
stream, 
Where the sweet star of eve looks down, and 
mingles 
Faint lustre with the water-lily’s gleam. 
They are from where the soft winds play in glad- 
ness 
Covering the turf with pearly blossom-showers ; 
Too richly dowered, oh ! friend are we for sad- 
ness, — 
Look on an empire — mind and nature— ours !” 
Mrs. Hemans. ' 
