


THE POETY OF FLOWERS, 



















LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
| BY H. W. LONGFELLOW. 
Sz axe full well, in language quaint and clIder, 
) One who dwelleth by the castled Rhine, 
When he called the flowers so blue and golden, || 
Stars, that in earth’s firmament do shine. 

Stars they are, wherein we read our history, 
As astrologers and seers of eld ; | 
Yet not wrapp’d about with awful mystery, \| 
Like the burning stars, which they beheld. | 
Wondrous truths, and manifold as wondrous, 
God hath written in those stars above; | 
But not less in the bright flowerets under us 
Stands the revelation of his love. 
Bright and glorious is that revelation, 
Written all over this great world of ours; | 
Making evident our own creation, 
In these stars of earth,—these golden flowers, 

And the Poet, faithful and far-seeing, | 
Sees alike in stars and flowers, a part 
Of the self-same, universal Being, i 
Which is throbbirg in his brain and heart; 




