32 POETICAL LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
perfuming unseen and distant places that were not 
solitary. Although her beauty had not gladdened the 
gaze of many beholders, still her voice on a calm sum¬ 
mer’s evening had fallen with a peaceful hush on many 
a gentle heart, coming upon the ear 
“ Like the sweet south 
That breathes upon a bank of violets, 
Stealing and giving odor:” 
for hers were sweet and rustic strains,—unstudied 
melodies, that stole in and out the heart: they were 
“old and plain,” such as 
“ The spinsters and the knitters, in the sun, 
And the free maids that weave their thread with bone, 
Do use to chant: for they were silly truth, 
And dallied with the innocence of love 
Like th’ olden age.” 
They were such as Barbara was wont to chant when 
she went singing about the house before she “hung her 
head aside,” and all for love; for within that innocent 
heart Love had not yet “lighted his golden torch, and 
waved his purple wings.” The temple and the shrine 
were there, but within that holy place no worshiper 
had as yet knelt down—no incense was offered up 
saving from the flowers, those bowing adorers of that 
