34 THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
This bonnie wee flower grew naked and 
hare, 
And its wee leaves shrank in the frozen air; 
Wild darnel and nettle sprang rank from the 
ground. 
But the rose and white lilies were drooping 
around ; 
And this bonnie blue flower hung doon its 
wee head, 
And the bright morning sun flung his beams 
on its bed, 
And the pale stars looked forth—but the 
wee flower was dead. 
—Anders on. 
THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
In Eastern lands they talk in flowers, 
And they tell in a garland their loves and 
cares; 
Each blossom that blooms in their garden 
bowers, 
On its leaves a mystic language bears. 
The rose is a sign of joy and love— 
Young blushing love in its earliest dawn ; 
And the mildness that suits the gentle dove. 
From the Myrtle’s snowy flower is drawn. 
