54 
LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
To watcli her sister-buds unfold, 
White-shoulder’d, on the flowery Lea, 
Gazing about in sweet amazement, 
Thy image, from the vine-clad casement, 
Seems looking out, my love, on me. 
No marvel that my heart became 
Attached to thee—in all around me 
I saw the likeness of thy face ; 
Within the Broom I spelt thy name, 
In every Blue-bell’d flower I found thee, 
In all fair things I could thee trace ; 
No bud, nor bell, the stem adorning, 
Hung with the trembling gems of morning, 
The dew,—but call’d up thy embrace. 
In thee I found a new delight,— 
Alone, my heart was ever sighing, 
And pining for another heart; 
Like flowers that bow beneath the night, 
The very fragrance in them dying, 
So did I droop from thee apart; 
Till on me broke thy beauteous splendour,— 
Thine eyes that looked—oh, heaven! how tender 
I cannot tell thee what thou art. 
Thou’rt like the Water-lily pure, 
That grows where rippling waters rumble, 
