210 THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
Though morning’s early splendor 
May rapture’s thrill impart, 
The vesper hour, more tender, 
Sinks deeper in the heart. 
Though spring he gay with roses, 
And summer skies are clear. 
Yet autumn’s hand encloses 
The richest harvest of the year. 
E’en age’s wintry weather 
Inspires no thought of gloom. 
In hearts that share together 
Hopes of bliss beyond the tomb ! 
1ST™ 
Narcissus.— Egotism and Self-Love. 
Nor knew, fond youth, it was himself he loved.— Ovid, 
Nasturtium.— Tropoelum Majus. — A warlike trophy. 
■ My fate pursue, 
I suffer for the rest, I die for you.—Dryden. 
