THE LANGUAGE OF FLO WEES. 
39 
“ I never heard 
Of any true affection, but ’twas nipt 
With care, that like the caterpillar eats 
The leaves of the spring’s sweetest book—the rose.” 
Herrick sings,— 
“Gather the rosebuds while ye may; 
Old Time is still a flying; 
And this same flower, that smiles to-day, 
To-morrow will be dying.” 
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And holy George Herbert, — 
“ Sweet rose, whose hue, angry and brave, 
Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye. 
Thy root is ever in its grave, 
And thou must die.” 
The celebrated Roman de la Rose , the delight of 
the court of Philip the Fair, seems to have been 
written only to teach us how dangerous it is to listen 
to a seducing voice ; and that modesty ought to defend 
beauty, as thorns the rose. 
The order of the Golden Eose was instituted by 
the Pope of Pome in the twelfth century. It was 
formerly sent to new sovereigns at their accession, but 
is now presented annually to some crowned head. 
A fine little poem on the rose is attributed to 
Sappho : — 
“ Did Jove a queen of flowers decree, 
The rose the queen of flowers should be; 
Of flowers the eye; of plants the gem; 
The meadows’ blush; earth’s diadem; 
Glory of colors, on the gaze 
Lightening in its beauty’s blaze. 
It breathes of love: it blooms the guest 
Of Venus’ ever-fragrant breast: 
In gaudy pomp its petals spread; 
Light foliage trembles round its head; 
With vermeil blossoms fresh and fair, 
It laughs to the voluptuous air.” 
