196 THE POETRY OF FLOWERS 
Seek the bank where flowering elders crowd, 
Where, scattered wide, the lily of the vale 
Its balmy essence breathes, where cowslips hang 
The dewy head, where purple violets lurk, 
With all the lovely children of the shade. 
Wordsworth, who delights to wander amid the green and 
llowery fields, to explore the valley, or scale the mountain’s 
loftiest height, has not forgotten this sweet flower: — 
That shy plant, the lily of the vale, 
That loves the ground, and from the sun withholds 
Her pensive beauty, from the breeze her sweets. 
And at this season the nightingale seeks its consort in the 
depths of the forests, where the echo in the solitude answers to 
his voice. Guided by the perfume of the lily of the valley, 
this charming bird chooses its retreat. There it celebrates, in 
its melodious song, the delights of solitude and of love; and 
the flower which every successive year announces to him the 
return of happiness. 
The “ Naiad-like lily of the vale, whose tremulous bells are 
seen through their pavilions of tender green,” should form a 
part of every wreath that crowns the happy, the innocent, and 
the gay. 
\ 
Blest meeting, after many a day 
Of widowhood passed far away, 
When the loved face again is seen, 
Close — close — with not a tear between — 
Confidings frank, without control, 
Poured mutually from soul to soul; 
As free from any fear or doubt, 
As is that light from chill or stain, 
The sun into the stars sheds out, 
To be by them shed back again! 
Moore. 
