188 
POETICAL LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
THE HAPPY VALLEY. 
It was a valley filled with sweetest sounds, 
A languid music haunted every where, 
Like those with which a summer-eve abounds, 
From rustling corn and song-birds calling clear, 
Down sloping uplands, which some wood surrounds, 
With tinkling rills just heard, but not too near, 
And low of cattle on the distant plain, 
And peal of far-off bells, now caught, then lost again. 
It seem’d like Eden’s angel-peopled vale, 
So bright the sky, so soft the streams did flow ; 
Such tones came riding on the musk-wing’d gale, 
The very air seem’d sleepily to blow ; 
And choicest flowers enamell’d every dale, 
Flushed with the richest sunlight’s rosy glow : 
It was a valley drowsy with delight, 
Such fragrance floated round, such beauty dimmed the 
sight. 
