14 DROPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 
TIIE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
PERCIVAL. 
In Eastern lands they talk in flowers, 
And they tell in a garland their loves and cares; 
Each blossom that blooms in their garden bowers, 
On its leaves a mystic language bears. 
The rose is a sign of joy and love, 
Young, blushing love in its earliest dawn; 
And the mildness that suits the gentle dove, 
From the myrtle’s snowy flower is drawn. 
Innocence shines in the lily’s bell, 
Pure as the heart in its native heaven; 
Fame’s bright star and glory’s swell, 
By the glossy leaf of the bay are given. 
The silent, soft, and humble heart 
In the violet’s hidden sweetness breathes; 
And the tender soul that cannot part, 
A twine of evergreen fondly wreathes. 
The cypress, that daily shades the grave, 
Is sorrow, that mourns her bitter lot; 
And faith, that a thousand ills can brave, 
Speaks to thy blue leaves — forget-me-not. 
