190 POETICAL LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
Her coy glance on the bedded greensward keeping ; 
She pulled the flowers to pieces as she sighed, 
Then blushed like timid daybreak, when the dawn 
Looks crimson on the night, and then again’s with¬ 
drawn. 
One, with her warm and milk-white arms outspread, 
On tip-toe tripped along a sunlit glade; 
Half turned the matchless sculpture of her head, 
And half shook down her silken circling braid ; 
She seemed to float on air, so light she sped; 
Her back-blown scarf an arched rainbow made, 
She skimmed the wavy flowers, as she passed by, 
With fair and printless feet, like clouds along the sky. 
One sat alone within a shady nook, 
With wildwood songs the lazy hours beguiling; 
Or looking at her shadow in the brook, 
Trying to frown, then at the effort smiling—■ 
Her laughing eyes mocked every serious look ; 
’T was as if Love stood at himself reviling : 
She threw in flowers, and watched them float away, 
Then at her beauty looked, then sang a sweeter lay. 
