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12S POETICAL LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
_ . 
sunshine of heaven but seldom visits. And unto all 
these they gave presiding powers, emblems, and vir¬ 
tues, and mysterious meanings; many of which Love 
never recovered again, when he set out on his pil¬ 
grimage to visit the Shrines of the Flowers. And 
ever as they formed the flowers, and strung the beaded 
buds together upon the stems, and perfumed the petals 
with odors which they had gathered in the gardens of 
heaven, their voices blended together as they chaunted 
the lays brought from another world. 
SONG OF THE FLOWER-SPIRITS. 
Sister, sister, what dost thou twine ? 
I am weaving a wreath of the wild Woodbine ; 
I have streak’d it without like the sunset hue, 
And silver’d it white with the morning - dew : 
And there is not a perfume which on the breeze blows 
From the lips of the Pink or the mouth of the Rose, 
That’s sweeter than mine—that’s sweeter than mine: 
I have mingled them all in my wild Woodbine. 
White watcher of blossoms, what weavest thou? 
I am stringing the Hawthorn-buds on a green bough; 
