THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 217 
Woo her, when with rosy blush. 
Summer eve is sinking; 
When on rills that softly gush, 
Stars are softly twinkling; 
When thro’ boughs that knit the bower. 
Moonlight gleams are stealing; 
Woo her, till the gentle hour 
Wakes a gentler feeling. 
Woo her when autumnal dyes 
Tinge the woody mountain; 
When the drooping foliage lies, 
In the half choked fountain ; 
Let the scene, that tells how fast, 
Youth is passing over, 
Warn her, ere her bloom is past. 
To secure her lover. 
Woo her, when the north winds call 
At the lattice nightly ; 
When within the cheerful hall, 
Blaze the faggots brightly ; 
While the wintry tempest round 
Sweeps the landscape hoary. 
Sweeter in her ear shall sound 
Love’s delightful story. 
Quamoclit.— Cypress Vine.— Busy Body. 
Busy bodies and intermeddlers are a dangerous sort 
of people to have to do withal— L" Estrange. 
