











174 LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS, 
Go to the silent Autumn woods ! 
There has gone forth a spirit stern ; 
Its wing has waved in triumph here, 
The spring’s green tender leaf is sere, 
And withering hangs the summer fern. 
Mary Howirr. 
In our favoured country, Spring is clothed 
in a green robe enamelled with flowers, which 
owes all its ornaments to Nature. Summer, 
crowned with blue-bottles and wild poppies, 
proud of her golden harvests, receives from the 
hand of man part of her decorations ; whilst 
Autumn appears laden with fruit brought to 
perfection by his industry. Here the juicy peach 
is tinged with the colours of the rose ; the fine- 
flavoured apricot borrows the gold that glows 
in the bosom of the ranunculus; the grape 
decks itself with the purple of the violet; and 
the apple with the varied hues of the gaudy 
tulip. All these fruits are so like flowers, that 
one would suppose them to have been made 
only to delight the eye: but yet they come to 
increase the abundance of our stores, and Au- 
tumn, which pours them upon our tables, seems 
to proclaim that they are the last gifts which 
Nature means to lavish upon us. 
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