THE FLORAL TELEGRAPH. 85 
than marble, save where the purple of 
her soft veins stole through the trans¬ 
parent skin. I took his captive soul, 
and bathed it in the full and ten¬ 
der glory of her seraphic and violet- 
tinted eyes. I then showed him the 
downy cheek, blushing through the 
mist of its own softness ; and made 
him gloat on the spot where he could 
concentrate his whole being in a kiss. 
Before he had grown mad with the 
rapture of the thought, I spoke of 
her parted lips, the arc of Cupid’s 
bow resting and now rising from a 
rosebud. Oh, then he raved ! Anon, 
I recalled him from this criminal 
violence. I bade him look upon the 
i 
