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ee rt tt ee mittee nen sce eS E we 
POETRY OF FLOWERS. 257 
That circling seasons, in a race 
That knows no lagging lingering pace, 
Shall each the other nimbly chase, 
Till Time’s departing final day 
Sweep snow-drops and the world away! 
LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
*T'was the clime of the east, ’twas the land of blue 
hours, 
That taught its fair maidens the Language of 
Flowers ; 
Basking sweet in the gleam of the sun’s setting 
rays, 
And love’s exchange making in flower-writ lays. 
A sun -flower quartered there tells of the hour 
For meeting the maid in the jessamine bow’r, 
A bright orange-flower is chastity’s dove; 
And tulip presented will tell thee of love. 
Return not the laurel; oh ! send not its bloom, 
Nor Marigold yellow, or sad is thy doom; 
You better had died ere the ill-fated hour 
You sent in exchange the bay-leaf for a flow’r; 
If thus her fond favours you scornfully treat, 
Her snow-drop, her flowers, will die at her feet ; 
121 x 



