116 THE LANGUA GE OF FL0 WERS. 
“ These maiden roses, love, appear like pearls kissed by 
the sun 
With last rich gleam of crimson ere his western throne be 
won; 
But should there not be some bright flower to deck our 
bridal wreath, 
Whose hue might speak of constancy, unchanging to the 
death ?” 
“ My Ida! from a thousand wreaths, thy own sweet fancy 
chose, 
For pure unfading loveliness, this garland of the Rose : 
And what can speak of truer faith, my own beloved one, 
Than the flower whose fragrance lasts even when its life 
is gone,?” 
“ Look to yon lone enchanted isle, which ’mid the silvery 
foam 
Of the blue water seems to float, the wild swan’s elfin 
home ; 
A very cloud of azure flowers in rich profusion bloom; 
Winds of the lake ! your passing sighs breathe of their 
rich perfume. 
“ In nameless beauty all unmarked, in solitude they smile, 
As if they bloomed but for the stars, or birds of that lone 
isle: 
For never yet hath mortal foot touched that enchanted 
shore, 
Long hallowed by the wildly imagined tales of yore. 
“ Full well I love those distant flowers, whose pure and 
tender blue 
Seems fitting emblem of a faith, unchanging as their hue; 
