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THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
Ye yeraal harps ! ye sylvan melodies ! 
Speak poets oi the fields ! rapt gazers on the sides ! 
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Ye poetry of woods ! romance of fields ! 
Nature’s imagination bodied bright ! 
Earth’s floral page, that high instruction yields ! — 
For not, oh, not alone to charm our sight, 
Gave God your blooming forms, your leaves of 
light ? 
Ye speak a language which we yet may learn — 
A divination of mysterious might ! 
And glorious thoughts may angel eyes discern 
Flower-writ inmeadand vale, where'er man’s foot- 
steps turn.” 
Charles Swain. 
“ When nature laughs out in all the triumph 
of spring, it may be said, without a metaphor, 
that, in her thousand varieties of flowers, wo 
see the sweetest of her smiles ; that, through 
them, we comprehend the exultation of her 
joys : and that, by them, she wafts her songs 
of thanksgiving to the heaven above her, 
which repays her tribute of gratitude with 
looks of love. Yes, flowers have their language. 
Theirs is an oratory, that speaks in perfumed 
