Part 46

I send thee flowers, oh dearest, and I deem That from their petals thou wilt hear sweet words, Whose music, sweeter than the voice of birds, When breathed to thee alone, perchance may seem All eloquent of feelings unexpress'd.

PARK BENJAMIN.

A garland lay him by, made by himself Of many several flowers, Stuck in that mystic order that the rareness Delighted me.

BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.

WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE FLOWER?

1. The sensitive plant, the earliest Up-gathered unto the bosom of rest, A sweet child, weary of its delight, The feeblest, and yet the favorite, Cradled within the embrace of night.

SHELLEY.

2. The jasmine; Pride of Carolina's early Spring! Fairy land Is not more beautiful, than when, full blown, The jasmine, gilt by the Creator's hand, Hangs all around us.

MRS. DANA.

3. Hyacinths, ringing their soft bells To call the bees from the anemonies, Jealous of their bright rivals' glowing wealth.

MISS LANDON.

4. Primroses, Which, when the lengthen'd shadows fall Like soft dreams o'er the earth, And all around a sabbath reigns As at creation's birth, Burst the magic bands of clay, And greet with smiles the sun's last ray.

MISS M. E. LEE.

5. The chaste camelia's pure and spotless bloom, That boasts no fragrance, and conceals no thorn.

W. ROSCOE.

6. The light snowdrops, which, starting from their cells, Hang each pagoda with their silver bells.

O. W. HOLMES.

7. A tulip, which Titania may have chosen For rest or revelry, to feast or doze in.

MISS MOISE.

8. Roses, Beautiful each, but different all; One with that pure but crimson flush, That marks a maiden's first love blush; One, Pale as the snow of the funeral stone; Another, rich as the damask die Of a monarch's purple drapery; And one hath leaves like the leaves of gold Worked on that drapery's royal fold.

MISS LANDON.

9. The hare-bell on the heath, The forest tree beneath, Which springs like elfin dweller of the wild; Light as a breeze astir Stemm'd with the gossamer, Soft as the blue eyes of a poet's child.

MARY HOWITT.

10. Thou sweet daisy, common-place Of nature, with that homely face, And yet, with something of a grace, Which love makes for thee!

WORDSWORTH.

11. The good old passion-flower! It bringeth to thy mind The young days of the Christian church, Dim ages left behind.

MARY HOWITT.

12. Sweet peas on tiptoe for a flight, With wings of gentle flush o'er delicate white, And taper fingers, catching at all things, To bind them round about with tiny rings.