120 
POETICAL LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
Still sang he, through each green retreat, 
“ The Daisies they are very sweet.” 
With many a maiden did he dally, 
Like a glad brook that turns away— 
Here in, there out, across the valley, 
With every pebble stops to play; 
Taking no note of space nor time, 
Through flowers, the banks adorning, 
Still rolling on, with silver chime, 
In star-clad night and golden morning. 
So went Love on, through cold and heat, 
Singing, “The Daisy’s ever sweet.” 
’T was then the floAvers were haunted 
With fairy forms and lovely things, 
Whose beauty elder bards have chaunted, 
And how they lived in crystal springs, 
And swang upon the honied bells ; 
In meadows danced round dark green mazes, 
Strewed flowers around the holy wells. 
But never trampled on the Daisies. 
They spared the star that lit their feet, 
The Daisy was so very sweet. 
