LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
SONG OF MA Y MORNING. 
Now the bright morning-star, day’s harbinger. 
Comes dancing from the east, and leads with her 
The flowery May, who from her green lap throws 
The yellow cowslip, and the pale primrose. 
Hail, bounteous May, that dost inspire 
Mirth, and youth, and warm desire; 
Woods and groves are of thy dressing, 
Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing. 
Thus we salute thee with our early song, 
And welcome thee, and wish thee long. 
Milton. 
Among the myrtles as I walk’d, 
Love and my Sight thus intertalk’d : 
Tell me, said I, in deep distress, 
Where I may find my Shepherdess ? 
—Thou Fool, said Love, know’st thou not this? 
In everything that’s sweet she is. 
In yon’d Carnation go and seek. 
There thou shalt find her lips and cheek ; 
In that enamell’d Pansy by, 
There thou shalt have her curious eye ; 
In bloom of Peach and Rose’s bud 
There waves the streamer of her blood, 
—’Tis true, said I; and thereupon 
I went to pluck them one by one, 
To make of parts an union ; 
But on a sudden all were gone. 
At which I stopp’d ; said Love, these be 
The true resemblance of Thee ; 
For as these Flowers, thy joys must die ; 
And in the turning of an eye ; 
And all thy hopes of her must wither, 
Like those short sweets here knit together. 
Robert Herrick. 
