THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS.
BY JNO. B. DUFFEY.()
As, wandering forth at rosy dawn,When sparkling dew-drops deck the lawn,From glen and glade, and river-side,We bring young flowers—the morning's pride.And, bound in wreaths, or posies sweet,With flowers our favored ones we greet;For flowers a silent language own,That makes our maiden wishes known.A language that by love was wrought,And by fond love to mortals taught;A language, too, that...
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