42 POETICAL LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
And oft when from that scorching shore, 
In after years those odors come, 
He pictured his green cottage door, 
The shady porch, and window-frame, 
Far, far away, across the foam : 
The very Jasmine-flower that crept 
Round the thatch’d roof about his home, 
Where she he loved then safely slept. 
With raven-ringlets blown apart, 
And trembling like a startled dove, 
A lovely girl press’d to her heart 
A Moss-rose, to appease its love. 
But all in vain, it still kept beating,— 
And so she said, “’Tis all in vain! 
Oh, this love, ’tis past defeating,— 
What can I do but love again?” 
