LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
There grew pied Wind-flowers and Violets, 
Daisies, those pearl’d Arcturi of the earth. 
The constellated flowers that never set; 
Faint Oxlips; tender Blue-bells, at whose birth 
The sod scarce heaved ; and that tall flower that wets 
Its mother’s face with Heaven-collected tears, 
When the low wind, its playmate’s voice, it hears. 
And in the warm hedge grew lush Eglantine, 
Green Cow-bind and the moonlight-colour’d May 
And cherry blossoms, and white cups, whose wine 
Was the bright dew yet drained not by the day ; 
And Wild Roses, and Ivy serpentine 
With its dark buds and leaves, wandering astray. 
And flowers azure, black, and streaked with gold, 
Fairer than any wakened eyes behold. 
And nearer to the river’s trembling edge 
There grew broad flag-flowers, purple prankt with white, 
And starry river buds among the sedge. 
And floating Water-lilies, broad and bright. 
Which lit the oak that overhung the hedge 
With moonlight beams of their own watery light; 
And bulrushes, and reeds of such deep green 
As soothed the dazzled eye with sober sheen. 
P. B. Shelley. 
Fade, Flow’rs ! fade, Nature will have it so; 
’Tis but what we must in our autumn do ! 
And as your leaves lie quiet on the ground, 
The loss alone by those that lov’d them found ; 
So in the grave shall we as quiet lie, 
Miss’d by some few that lov’d our company; 
But some so like to thorns and nettles live. 
That none for them can, when they perish, grieve. 
Waller. 
