80 POETICAL LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
tantly in her arms, how he tried to conceal his face, 
this way, and that way, among the flowers, whenever 
she attempted to press his lips, — 
“While on each cheek appeared a pretty dimple : 
Love made those hollows, if himself were slain, 
He might be buried in a tomb so simple.” 
She recalled his attitude as he untwined himself from 
her embrace, and hurried off in pursuit of his steed, 
which had snapped the rein that secured it to the 
branch of a neighboring oak, and started at full speed 
down one of the wild avenues of the forest. In fancy 
she again saw him, as he sat panting upon the ground, 
wearied with the fruitless pursuit; and how, kneeling 
down, she then 
“Took him gently by the hand, 
A lily prison’d in a gaol of snow, 
Or ivory in an alabaster band : 
So white a friend engirt so white a foe; 
A beauteous combat, wilful and unwilling, 
Showed like two silver doves that sat a-billing.” 
And as she looked upon him, she imagined that his 
lips moved again, as when they said, “Give me my 
hand, why dost thou feel it ?” she fancied she again 
felt his face upon her cheek — his kisses upon her lips, 
as when she fell down and feigned herself dead ; the 
