LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
Who loves not Spring’s voluptuous hours, 
The carnival of birds and flowers ? 
Montgomery. 
Now gentle gales, 
Panning their odoriferous wings, dispense 
Native perfumes, and whisper whence they stole 
These balmy spoils. 
Milton. 
Here Spring appears, with flowery chaplets bound. 
Anon. 
Fresh Spring, the herald of love’s mighty king. 
In whose cote-armour richly are display’d 
All sorts of flowers the which on earth do spring. 
In goodly colours gloriously array’d. 
Spenser. 
