140 
THE POETRY OF FLOWERS 
Come, the young violets crowd my door, 
Thy earliest look to win, 
And at my silent window-sill 
The jessamine peeps in. 
All day the red-bird warbles 
Upon the mulberry near, 
And the night-sparrow trills her song 
All night with none to hear. 
Bryant. 
LET ME GO! 
BUTTERFLY-WEED. 
I 
The asclepias tuberosa or butterfly-weed is found in abun- 
dance in the United States. Its flowers are of a beautifully ! 
bright orange colour. The down or silk of the seeds, in this j 
and other species, furnishes an admirable mechanism for their I 
dissemination. When the seeds are liberated by the bursting ] 
of the follicle which contains them, the silken fibres immedi- | 
ately expand so as to form a sort of globe of branching and ^ 
highly attenuated rays, with the seed suspended at its centre. 
In this state they are elevated by the wind to an indefinite j 
height, and carried forward with a voyage like that of a bal¬ 
loon, until some obstacle intercepts their flight, or rain precipi¬ 
tates them to the ground. 
Nay! ours is not the morning 
Of love, when all is fresh and sweet, 
I often catch you yawning, 
You know, where’er we meet. 
