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THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
How charming in some rural spot, 
Combining love with garden plot, 
At once to cultivate one’s flowers, 
And one’s epistolary powers, 
Growing one’s own choice words and fancies 
In orange tubs and beds of pansies ; 
One’s sighs and passionate declarations 
In odorous rhet’ric of carnations ; 
Seeing how far one’s stocks will reach; 
Taking due care one’s flowers of speech 
To guard from blight as well as bathos, 
And watering, every day, one’s pathos ! 
A letter comes just gather’d, we 
Doat on its tender brilliancy ; 
Inhale its delicate expression 
Of balm and pea; and its confession, 
Made with as sweet a maiden blush 
As ever morn bedew’d on bush ; 
And then when we have kiss’d its wit 
And heart, in water putting it, 
To keep its remarks fresh, go round 
Our little eloquent plot of ground! 
And with delighted hands compose 
Our answer, all of lily and rose, 
Of tuberose and of violet, 
And little darling mignonette ; 
And gratitude, and polyanthus, 
And flowers that say, ‘‘ Felt never man thus!” 


Goat’ 
Late: 
Haw 
Alpit 
Wild 
Nak 
Copy 
Smo 
Blue 
Piel 
Spot 
Whi 
Garc 
Afric 
Mou 
Pro} 
Riel 

