52 
POETICAL LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
And in the flower they shall see blended. 
The golden star that emblems thee, 
Rimmed with the blue thy wings descended, 
The heaven, that’s lost through lov.e of me 
Without repining, or complaining, 
Must thy weary task be done, 
If thou hast hopes of e’er regaining 
Those lost realms beyond the sun— 
For the Voice said, low and hollow, 
« Where he goest thou shalt follow.” 
Every one who has wandered by the meadow- 
streams and woodland brooks of pastoral England, 
has gathered the blue Forget-me-not, one of the most 
beautiful of our water-loving flowers; looking, where 
a bed of it is growing together, as if the blue of heaven 
had dropped down, and blended with the green tint of 
the earth. Nor is its azure-eyed sister of the meadow 
(the Myosotis Arvensis ) less fair; but its legend has 
yet to be written, and the gentle spirit portrayed who 
first planted it in the fields of Waterloo, above the 
graves of England s fallen heioes. 
