88 POETICAL LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
“ By a prophetic poppy-leaf I found 
Your changed affection; for it gave no sound, 
Though in my hand struck hollow, as it lay, 
But quickly withered, like your love, away.” 
In the Apple-blossom we see the Lily and the Rose 
blended together, like a blush softening into the snowy 
whiteness of a sweet face, — decking, peradventure, 
some countenance that we secretly love — a love which, 
from very fear, we dare not give utterance to, lest some 
other should already be preferred. It may be, too, that 
at the same time we already stand high in her estima¬ 
tion, and yet her innate modesty causes her to shrink 
back from revealing it; and so we go on dallying and 
sighing together, like the spring breeze playing in and 
out a bunch of Apple-blossoms, then quitting them 
until the warmer air of the bolder summer comes forth, 
and ripens the blushing blossoms into the full fruit of 
mellowed love. Of all the beauties which Spring, 
stepping forth, hangs upon the trees, leaving a wreath 
here and a garland there, the loveliest of all her rich 
decorations is still the opening Apple-blossom — the 
emblem of Preference in Love. 
