108 
POETICAL LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
sleeping landscape, had Love wandered forth alone, 
to watch the Daisies unfold ; and so deeply was he 
enamored of their innocence, he all day long had often 
sat upon the sloping hill-side, that he might behold 
them wave to and fro,— now turning their golden 
bosses toward the sun, then bending forward and 
showing the green cup from which sprang each pink 
and pearly rim, that starred them round like a halo of 
light. Until the gray twilight would he linger there, 
and watch the buds fold themselves up for the night; 
and when the pale white moon rounded up above the 
dark line of trees that crowned the hill, he would watch 
the flooded light break over the scene, and breathe a 
blessing on the lovely flowers while they slept. 
Oh, Love ! why didst thou not linger behind to 
see that gay cavalcade pass ? for there was a form 
which thou mightest have mistaken, liadst thou not 
known her, for Diana the huntress of the woods; for 
never did the morning, as it looks down upon the 
thousands of beautiful eyes which open beneath it, 
light up two such floating orbs of love, as those which 
glittered beneath that swan-white brow, and swam 
under the nut-brown ringlets of the Daisy of the Dale. 
Never did arm more exquisitely moulded and grace- 
