48 
LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
skies; her cheeks dyed with the delicate crimson of 
the apple-blossoms ; her white and blue-veined neck 
beautiful as a bed of lilies-of-the-valley, intersected 
with trailing violets; while her silken air streams 
out like the graceful acacias, that throw their gold 
and green upon the breeze. Around her brow is 
twined a wreath of May-blossoms—pearly buds, but 
yet unblown. High above her head the skylark soars, 
while the linnet warbles in the brake, and from 
every tree and bush an hundred choristers raise 
their voices in the great concert which they hold 
to welcome her. The sunbeams that dance about 
the primrose-coloured sky — the insects that hum 
and wanton in the air, the flowers that day by day 
rise higher above the bladed grass, and the bursting 
buds that grow bolder as they venture out further 
from the hedgerows to peep at her beauty, all 
proclaim with what delight the return of Spring 
is ever hailed. 
We know not what visions the great poets may 
have seen in the earlier ages, when they described 
Spring as a beautiful maiden descending from 
heaven, and scattering flowers upon the earth. 
They may have caught glimpses of the immortal 
goddess as she cleaved her way through the sky, 
