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LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
And sunny slopes, of green and flowery ground, 
Went stretching far along the water’s edge, 
Seeming to listen to that slumberous sound ; 
For nought there moved save when the reedy 
sedgo 
Bowed to its shadow in the stream beneath, 
Or some light ripple stirred the lily’s pearly wreath. 
A velvet sward, its length deep-rimmed with flowers, 
Wound by the stream, and formed a pleasant walk, 
Shaded fly boughs ; sweet summer-woven bowers, 
In which the leaves did oft together talk, 
Now to themselves, then to the brook below, 
Just as the fitful winds in fancy seemed to blow. 
Sometimes a cloud, that seemed to have lost its way, 
Went sailing o’er the ridge of sable pines, 
Steeping their topmost boughs in silvery grey, 
Or “ glinting” downward on the purple vines, 
Till their broad leaves threw back a moon-like 
gleam, 
And then a shadow swept o’er valley, tree, and stream. 
Sweet were the sounds that through Arcadia flowed: 
The gentle lambs bleated all summer long, 
The spotted heifer from the thicket lowed, 
The nightingale struck up her starlight song, 
