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THE LANGUAGE OE FLOWERS. 
Whatsoe’er of beauty, 
Yearns and yet reposes, 
Blush, and bosom, and sweet breath, 
Took a shape in roses. 
Hold one of us lightly— 
See from what a slender 
Stalk we bow in heavy blooms, 
And roundness, rich and tender. 
Know you not our only 
Rival flower—the human ? 
Loveliest weight on lightest foot, 
Joy abundant woman. 
ROSES. 
ANACREON. 
While we invoke the wreathed Spring, 
Resplendent Rose, to thee we’ll sing; 
Resplendent Rose ! the flower of flowers, 
Whose breath perfumes Olympus’ bowers; 
Whose virgin blush, of chastened dye, 
Enchants so much our mortal eye. 
Oft has the poet’s magic tongue 
The Rose’s fair luxuriance sung ; 
And long the Muses, heavenly maids, 
Have reared it in their tuneful shades. 
When, at the early glance of morn, 
It sleeps upon the glittering thorn, 
’Tis sweet to dare the tangled fence, 
