124 
POETICAL LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
the sun-stained flower rested upon the parted amber of 
her ringlets, as she exclaimed, “ I will exalt this flower 
over every blossom of the wild woodland ; whatsoever 
ye plant it shall still overtop, until its fragrant head is 
buried and lost amid the green foliage of the trees. 
All the sweet odors of summer shall float around its 
feet, and it shall receive homage from every flower of 
the forest.” 
“Stop, beautiful sister,” said another fair spirit, 
pointing upward with her white finger and an arch 
look, as she rose from the high pile of flowers by which 
she was surrounded ; “ seest thou that old gray naked 
rock, which stood like a lonely ruin, even amid the 
silence and darkness of Chaos? For many a day had I 
looked upon it with an eye of pity, as it stood there, 
grand in its very solitariness, majestic in its own deso¬ 
lation, and looking noble though bearing the impress 
of ruin. Hovering around it in the early sunbeams of 
morning, I thought how even its cold aged bosom 
would be comforted if I threw but a handful of flowers 
there, and I guessed aright. Sister, look up, and be¬ 
hold how beautifully those wild Wallflowers wave ; 
even the banded bee hath winged his way to that 
dizzy height, allured by their surpassing sweetness. I 
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