THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
But when the angels’ fiery bands, 
Guarding the eastern gate, 
Told of a broken law’s commands, 
And agonies that came too late;— 
With “ longing, lingering” wish to stay, 
And many a fond but vain delay, 
That could not wile her grief away, 
Eve wandered aimless o’er a world 
On which the wrath of God was hurled. 
Then came the spring’s capricious smile, 
And summer sunlight warmed the air, 
And autumn’s riches served awhile, 
To hide the curse that lingered there, 
Till o’er the once untroubled sky 
Quick-driven clouds began to fly, 
And moaning zephyrs ceased to sigh, 
When winter’s storms in fury burst 
Upon a world indeed accurst. 
And when at last the driving snow 
A strange, ill-omened sight, 
Came whitening all the plains below, 
To trembling Eve it seemed—afiright, 
With shivering cold and terror bowed, 
As if each fleecy vapour cloud 
Were falling as a snowy shroud 
To form a close enwrapping pall 
For earth’s untimeous funeral. 
Then all her faith and gladness fled, 
And nothing left but black despair, 
Eve madly wished she had been dead, 
Or never born a pilgrim there; 
