200 THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
That scorns temptation, power defies, 
Where mutual love is not; 
And to the tomb for rescue flies 
When life would be a blot 
THE BAY. 
WILLIAM BROWNE. 
Bays still grow, by lightning not struck down 
The victor’s garland and the poet’s crown. 
ANON. 
O laurel Tree ! long mayst thou crown 
The poet’s brow with deathless fame; 
And all thy. glossy leaves shower down. 
