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LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
Round us the silver trout do glide, 
Blithe zephyrs dance amidst our bowers, 
And with us insects gay abide, 
Who call us sweetest of the flowers. 
We make these solitudes rejoice, 
Adorn and bless our parent wave ; 
And should it be her children’s choice 
To leave her, but—to find a grave ? 
We should not be in bowers of art, 
Blooming and fresh as we are here— 
Soon would our lovliness depart 
And wither’d things we should appear. 
See yellow Naphar* now so gay, 
Blue Pontederiaf fresh and fair, 
Oh, they would droop the very day, 
Should take them from their natal air ! 
And I, she said, in accents sweet, 
Whose robe of plain and simple white 
Is for these shades a garment meet ;— 
I could not bide the glaring light, 
Which gaudy tulips love so well— 
Oh grant me, Heav’n my little day 
Untouch’d by pride may pass away ! 
*The Yellow water-lily. 
{A beautiful aquatic flower, with blossoms thickly crowded upon a spike ; this 
flower intermixed with the White and Yellow lilies, produces a fine effect. 
