92 THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
Taste, ye mortals, also ; 
Milky-hearted we; 
Taste, but with a reverend care ; 
Active—patient be. 
Too much gladness brings to gloom 
Those who on the gods presume. 
Leigh Hunt. 
ROSES. 
Love, 
While we invoke the wreathed Spring, 
Resplendent Rose ! to thee we’ll sing; 
Resplendent Rose ! the flower of flowers ; 
Whose breath perfumes Olympus’ bowers ; 
Whose virgin blush, of chasten’d dye, 
Enchants so much our mortal eye. 
Oft has the poet’s magic tongue 
The Rose’s fair luxuriance sung ; 
And long the Muses, heavenly maids. 
Have rear’d it in their tuneful shades. 
When, at the early glance of morn. 
It sleeps upon the glittering thorn, 
’Tis sweet to dare the tangled fence, 
To cull the timid flow’ret thence 
