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THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
And pressing up and peeping through 
Its small but precious vistas, 
Sighed for the lovely light and dew 
That blessed my elder sisters. 
I saw the sweet breeze rippling o’er 
Their leaves that loved the play, 
Though the light thief stole all the store 
Of dewdrop gems away. 
I thought how happy I should be 
Such diamond wreaths to wear, 
And frolic with a rose’s glee 
With sunbeam, bird, and air. 
Ah me ! ah, woe is me ! that I, 
Ere yet my leaves unclose, 
With all my wealth of sweets, must die 
Before I am a rose ! 
THE LESSON OF A ROSE. 
SPENSER. 
Ah ! see whoso fayre thing doest faine to see, 
In springing flowre the image of thy day ! 
Ah! see the virgin rose, how sweetly shee 
Doth first peepe foorth with bashfull modestee, 
That fairer seems the lesse ye see her may! 
Lo ! see soone after how, more bold and free, 
Her barbd bosome she doth broad display; 
I.o ! see soone after how she fades and falls away 
