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LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
DEAD LEAVES. 
SADNESS-MELANCHOLY. 
Winter comes on. The trees, after being 
stripped of their fruit, have now lost heir leaves. 
The sun, as he recedes from us, throws dun 
or melancholy tints over the foliage. The poplar 
is covered with a pale gold colour, while the 
acacia rolls up its light folioles, which the sun’s 
rays will no more expand : the birch droops its 
long hair, already deprived of ornaments ; and 
the fir, which is destined to retain its green 
pyramid, waves it proudly in the air. The oak 
stands immoveable: he defies the utmost efforts 
of the wind, which cannot strip his stately head 
of its honours ; and it is only to Spring that the 
monarch of the woods will yield his leaves red¬ 
dened by Winter. 
All these trees might be supposed to be 
moved by different passions; one bows pro¬ 
foundly as if to pay homage to its neighbour, 
whom the tempest cannot bend; another seems 
