106 
THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
A something light as air,—a look, 
A word unkind or wrongly taken— 
Oh ! love, that tempests never shook, 
A breath, a touch like this hath chaken. 
And heai'ts, so lately mingled, seem 
Like broken clouds,—or like the stream, 
That smiling left the mountain’s brow, 
As though its waters ne’er could sever, 
Yet, ere it reach the plain below, 
Breaks into floods, that part for ever! 
Lalla Boohh. 
THE BROOM. 
The Broom is much used in Spain for cordage. 
Scott notices the toughness of its fibrous roots :— 
And now, to issue from the glen, 
Ho pathway meets the wanderer’s ken, 
Unless he climb, with footing nice, 
A far projecting precipice. 
The Broom’s tough roots his ladder made ; 
The hazel’s saplings lent their aid; 
And thus an airy point he won. 
Burns says exultingly :— 
Their groves o’ sweet myrtle let foreign lands reckon, 
Where bright beaming summers exalt the per¬ 
fume ; 
Far dearer to me yon lone glen o’ green breckan, 
Wi’ the burn stealing under the lang yellow Broom. 
