


THE BOUQUET. 















PINK — WHITE. 
DIANTHUS ALBUS. 
Lovely and pure affection. 
‘O, CALL it by some better name, 
For Friendship is too cold ; 
And Love is now an earthly flame, 
Whose shrine must be of gold; 
And Passion, like the sun at noon, 
That burns o’er all he sees, 
Awhile as warm, will set as soon — 
O, call it none of these! 



‘Imagine something purer far 
More free from stain of clay, 
Than Friendship, Love, or Passion are, 
Yet human still as they ; 
And if thy lip, for love like this, 
No mortal word can frame, 
Go ask of angels what it is, 
And call it by that name !? 

















