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worn in your bosom ; for in my beautiful Greece, I 
was the emblem of secrecy and truth. Cupid—do 
you know Cupid ? he was Love itself. Cupid pre¬ 
sented me to Harpocrates, the god of Silence, whose 
sculptured form stood ever with his finger on his 
lips, and when my flowers were suspended over 
the social board, all the guests spoke, in the confi¬ 
dence that nothing they said should be repeated 
elsewhere. This was talking “under the rose.” 
Golden semblances of us were presented to kings ; 
the rose-like form expressed, “ may your body live 
forever !” the golden material, “ may your soul be 
immortal!” And the bravest warriors of Rome en¬ 
graved us on their shields, for their fame was to live 
long after their mortal frames had crumbled to the 
dust; as our fragrance lingers round all it has 
touched, when every trace of our forms has faded 
from the eye.” 
