






242 LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
that he held clasped in his arms, kissed its 
bright leaves. “ Since thou canst not be my 
spouse,” said he, “ thou shalt at least be my 
tree. Thou shalt ever adorn my brow, my lyre, 
and my quiver; and, as golden locks always 
cluster around my youthful head, so shalt thou 
always retain thy bright, beautiful foliage.” 
Thenceforward the Laurel was sacred to Apollo. 

