

THE BOUQUET. 















HONEY FLOWER. 7 
MELIANTHUs. 
My love is sweet and secret. 
O, IT is 
Most exquisite to have a fount of bliss, 
Sacred to us alone; no other eye 
Conscious of our enchanted mystery ; 
Ourselves the sole possessors of a spell 
Giving us happiuess unutterable. , 
L. E. Lanpon. 
*T was like the stealing 
Of summer wind through some wreathed shell ; 
Each secret winding, each inmost feeling 
Of all my soul, echoed to its spell! 
Moore. 
Ours, too, the glance none saw beside; 
The smile none else might understand ; 
The whispered thoughts of hearts allied ; 
The pressure of the thrilling hand, 
Byron. 



