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LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
And sunny slopes of green and flowery ground, 
Went stretching far along the water’s edge, 
Seeming to listen to that slumberous sound ; 
For nought there moved save when the reedy 
sedge 
Bowed to its shadow in the stream beneath, 
Or some light ripple stirred the lily’s pearly wreath. 
A velvet sward, its length deep-rimmed with flowers, 
Wound by the stream, and formed a pleasant walk, 
Shaded by boughs ; sweet summer-woven bowers, 
In which the leaves did oft together talk, 
Now to themselves, then to the brook below, 
Just as the fitful winds in fancy seemed to blow. 
Sometimes a cloud, that seemed to have lost its way, 
Went sailing o’er the ridge of sable pines, 
Steeping their topmost boughs in silvery grey, 
Or “glinting” downward on the purple vines, 
Till their broad leaves threw back a moon-like 
gleam, 
And then a shadow swept o’er valley, tree, and stream. 
Sweet were the sounds that through Arcadia flowed : 
The gentle lambs bleated all summer long, 
The spotted heifer from the thicket lowed, 
The nightingale struck up her starlight song 
