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LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
that he held clasped in his arms, kissed its bright 
leaves. “ Since thou canst not be my spouse,” 
said he, “ thou shalt at least be my tree. Thou 
shalt ever adorn my brow, my lyre, and my 
quiver; and, as golden locks always cluster 
around my youthful head, so shalt thou always 
retain thy bright, beautiful foliage.” Thencefor¬ 
ward the Laurel was sacred to Apollo. 
