THE 
LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS, 
LOVE AND THE FLO WEES. 
Upon a bed of roses Love reclined, 
The heart-dyed flowers across his mouth were thrown. 
And both their sweets were in one breath combined. 
As if they from the self-same bud had blown; 
You could not tell, so sweetly were they blended, 
Where swelled Love’s crimson lip, nor where the rose-bloom ended. 
It was in that age, when the golden mornings 
of the early world were unclouded by the smoke 
of cities ; when the odours from thousands of un¬ 
trodden flowers mingled with the aroma of old 
forests, and the gentlest wind that ever tried its 
wings flapped its way through vast realms of sleep¬ 
ing fragrance—that Love first set out to discover 
the long-lost Language of the Flowers. There had 
B 
