THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 1$ 
Growing one’s own choice words and fancies 
In orange tubs and beds of pansies; 
One’s sighs and passionate declarations 
In odorous rhet’ric of carnations ; 
Seeing how far one’s stocks will reach ; 
Taking due care one’s flowers of speech 
To guard from blight as well as bathos. 
And watering, every day, one’s pathos. 
A letter comes just gather’d, we 
Boat on its tender brilliancy : 
Inhale its delicate expression 
Of balm and pea ; and its confession 
Made with as sweet a maiden blush 
As ever morn bedew’d on bush ; 
And then when we have kiss’d its wit 
And heart, in water putting it. 
To keep its remarks fresh, go round 
Our little eloquent plot of ground. 
And with delighted hands compose 
Our answer, all of lily and rose. 
Of tuberose, and of violet, 
A little darling mignonette ; 
And gratitude, and polyanthus. 
And flowers that say " Felt never man thus 1 ” 
Leigh Hunt. 
