THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
The gods beheld this brilliant birth, 
And hailed the Rose, the boon of eardt! 
With nectar drops, a ruby tide, 
The sweetly orient buds they dyed, 
And bade them bloom the flowers divine, 
Of him who sheds the teeming vine; 
And bade them on the spangled thorn 
Expand their bosoms to the morn. 
THE ROSE’S ERRAND. 
C. MACKAY. 
I sent a message by the Rose 
That words could not convey ; 
Sweet vows I never dared to breathe, 
And wishes pure as they; 
A mute but tell-tale messenger, 
It could not do me wrong ; 
But told the passion I concealed, 
And hopes I cherished long. 
My Love received it with a smile, 
She read its thought and sighed, 
Then placed it on her happy breast, 
And wore it till it died. 
Immortal Rose ! it could not die: 
The spirit which it bore, 
Lives in her heart as first in mine— 
A joy for evermore. 
