A 
THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
“ A letter comes just gathered : we 
Dote on its tender brilliancy ; 
Inhale its delicate expression 
Of balm and pea ; and its confession 
Made with as sweet a maiden blush 
As ever morn bedewed in bush ; 
And then, when we have kissed its wit, 
And heart, in water putting it, 
To keep its remarks fresh, go round 
Our little eloquent plot of ground, 
And with delighted hands compose 
Our answer, all of lily and rose, 
Of tuberose and of violet, 
And little darling ( mignonette ), 
And gratitude and polyanthus, 
And flowers that say, “ Felt never man thus !” 
How the flowers may be made to hold a conversation 
Christine Pire tells us in the following dialogue :_ 
THE LOVER. 
“ I give to thee the Autumn rose, 
Let it say how dear thou art; 
All my lips dare not disclose, 
Let it whisper to thy heart; 
How love draws my soul to thee, 
Without language thou may’st see. 
THE LADY, 
“ I give to thee the aspen-leaf— 
'Tis to show I tremble still 
When I muse on all the grief 
Love can cause, if false or ill; 
How, too, many have believed, 
Trusted long, and being deceived. 
******** 
LOVER. 
“ I give to thee a faded wreath, 
Teaching thee, alas ! too well, 
How I spent my latest breath, 
Seeking all my truth to tell; 
But thy coldness made me die 
Victim of thy cruelty. 
