192 POETICAL LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
If but a sound, above the muffled roar 
Of the low waves, was heard. In little flocks 
Others went trooping through the wooded alleys, 
Their kilties glancing white, like streams in sunny 
valleys. 
They were such forms as, imaged in the night, 
Sail in our dreams across the heaven’s steep blue j 
When the closed lid sees visions streaming bright, 
Too beautiful to meet the naked view, 
Like faces formed in clouds of silver light: 
Women they were! such as the angels knew— 
Such as the Mammoth looked on, ere he fled, 
Scared by the lovers’ wings, that streamed in sunset red. 
