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THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. I4I 
LOVE LIES BLEEDING. 
Hopeless, not Heartless, 
Fae VER enliven’d with the liveliest ray, 
That fosters growth or checks or 
cheers decay, 
Nor by the heaviest rain-drops more 
deprest ; 
This flower, that first appear’d as Summer’s 
guest, 
Reserves her beauty ’mid autumnal leaves, 
And to her mournful habits fondly cleaves, 
When files of stateliest plants have ceased to 
bloom, 
One after one submitting to their doom ; 
When her coevals, each and all, are fled, 
What keeps her thus reclined upon her lone- 
some bed ? 
The old mythologists, more impress’d than we 
Of this late day, by character in tree 
Or herb, that claim’d peculiar sympathy, 
Or by the silent lapse of fountain clear, 
Or with the language of the viewless air, 
K 2 










