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LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
One, with her warm and milk-white arms outspread, 
On tip-toe tripped along a sunlit glade; 
Half turned the matchless sculpture of her head, 
And half shook down her silken circling braid: 
She seemed to float on air, so light she sped; 
Her back-blown scarf an arched rainbow made. 
She skimmed the wavy flowers as she passed by, 
With fair and printless feet, like clouds along the 
sky. 
One sat alone within a shady nook, 
With wildwood songs the lazy hour beguiling; 
Or looking at her shadow in the brook, 
Trying to frown, then at the effort smiling— 
Ider laughing eyes mock’d every serious look; 
’Twas as if Love stood at himself reviling: 
She threw in flowers, and watched them float away, 
Then at her beauty looked, then sang a sweeter lay. 
Others on beds of roses lay reclined, 
The regal flowers athwart their full lips thrown, 
And in one fragrance both their sweets combined, 
As if they on the self-same stem had grown: 
So close were rose and lip together twined, 
A double flower that from one bud had blown, 
Till none could tell, so sweetly were they blended, 
Where swelled the curving lip, or where the rose- 
bloom ended. 
