we). 
THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 61 
And faith, that a thousand ills can brave, 
Speaks in thy blue leaves—forget-me-not. 
Then, gather a wreath from the garden bowers, 
And tell the wish of thy heart in flowers. 
Percival 
THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
Teach thee their language sweet ? I know no tongue, 
No mystic art those gentle things declare, 
T ne’er could trace the schoolman’s trick among 
Created things so delicate and rare ; 
Their language, pr’ythee? why, they are themselves 
But bright thoughts syllabled to shape and hue ; 
The tongue that erst was spoken by the elves. 
When tenderness as yet within the world was new. 
And oh, do not their soft and starry eyes— 
Now bent on earth, to heaven now meekly pleading, 
Their incense fainting as it seeks the skies, 
Yet still from earth with freshening hope receding— 
Say, do not these to every heart declare, 
With all the silent eloquence of truth, 
The language that they speak is Nature’s prayer, 
To.give her back those spotless days of youth? 
Hoffman. 

