

THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS, 
Oh ! let us live so that flower by flower, 
Shutting in turn, may leave 
A lingerer still for the sun-set hour— ? t 
A charm for the shaded eve, 
Hemans. 
THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
In eastern lands they talk of flowers, 
And they tell in a garland their loves and cares 
Each blossom that blooms in their garden bowers 
On its leaves a mystic language bears. 
The rose is a sign of joy and love, 
Young blushing love in its earliest dawn ; 
And the mildness that suits the gentle dove, 
From the myrtle’s snowy flower is drawn, 
Innocence shines in the lily’s bell, 
Pure as the heart in its native heaven . 
Fame’s bright star and glory’s swell, 
By the glossy leaf of the bay are given. 
The silent, soft, and humble heart, 
In the violet’s hidden sweetness breathes : 
And the tender soul that cannot part, 
A twine of evergreen fondly wreathes. 
The cypress that daily shades the grave, > i 
Is sorrow that mourns her bitter lot $ 


