Language of Flowers

by Kate Greenaway

There grew pied Wind-flowers and Violets, Daisies, those pearl'd Arcturi of the earth, The constellated flowers that never set; Faint Oxlips; tender Blue-bells, at whose birth The sod scarce heaved; and that tall flower that wets Its mother's face with Heaven-collected tears, When the low wind, its playmate's voice, it hears. And in the warm hedge grew lush Eglantine, Green Cow-bind and the moonlight-colour'd May And cherry blossoms, and white cups, whose wine Was the bright dew yet drained not by the day; And Wild Roses, and Ivy serpentine With its dark buds and leaves, wandering astray, And flowers azure, black, and streaked with gold, Fairer than any wakened eyes behold. And nearer to the river's trembling edge There grew broad flag-flowers, purple prankt with white, And starry river buds among the sedge, And floating Water-lilies, broad and bright, Which lit the oak that overhung the hedge With moonlight beams of their own watery light; And bulrushes, and reeds of such deep green As soothed the dazzled eye with sober sheen.

P. B. Shelley.

Fade, Flow'rs! fade, Nature will have it so; 'Tis but what we must in our autumn do! And as your leaves lie quiet on the ground, The loss alone by those that lov'd them found; So in the grave shall we as quiet lie, Miss'd by some few that lov'd our company; But some so like to thorns and nettles live, That none for them can, when they perish, grieve.

Waller.

ARRANGEMENT OF A BOUQUET.

Here damask Roses, white and red, Out of my lap first take I, Which still shall run along the thread, My chiefest flower this make I. Amongst these Roses in a row, Next place I Pinks in plenty, These double Pansies then for show; And will not this be dainty? The pretty Pansy then I'll tie, Like stones some chain inchasing; And next to them, their near ally, The purple Violet placing. The curious choice clove July flower, Whose kind hight the Carnation, For sweetnest of most sovereign power, Shall help my wreath to fashion; Whose sundry colours of one kind, First from one root derived, Them in their several suits I'll bind: My garland so contrived. A course of Cowslips then I'll stick, And here and there (though sparely) The pleasant Primrose down I'll prick, Like pearls that will show rarely; Then with these Marigolds I'll make My garland somewhat swelling, These Honeysuckles then I'll take, Whose sweets shall help their smelling. The Lily and the Fleur-de-lis, For colour much contending; For that I them do only prize, They are but poor in scenting. The Daffodil most dainty is, To match with these in meetness; The Columbine compared to this, All much alike for sweetness. These in their natures only are Fit to emboss the border. Therefore I'll take especial care To place them in their order: Sweet-williams, Campions, Sops-in-wine, One by another neatly; Thus have I made this wreath of mine, And finished it featly.

Nicholas Drayton.

THE CHERRY.

There is a garden in her face, Where roses and white lilies grow; A heavenly paradise is that place, Wherein all pleasant fruits do grow; There cherries grow that none may buy Till cherry ripe themselves do cry. Those cherries fairly do enclose Of orient pearl a double row, Which, when her lovely laughter shows, They look like rosebuds fill'd with snow; Yet them no peer nor prince may buy Till cherry ripe themselves do cry. Her eyes like angels watch them still, Her brows like bended bows do stand, Threatening with piercing frowns to kill All that approach with eye or hand These sacred cherries to come nigh, Till cherry ripe themselves do cry.

Richard Allison

THE GARLAND.

The pride of every grove I chose, The violet sweet and lily fair, The dappled pink and blushing rose, To deck my charming Cloe's hair. At morn the nymph vouchaf'd to place Upon her brow the various wreath; The flowers less blooming than her face, The scent less fragrant than her breath. The flowers she wore along the day; And every nymph and shepherd said, That in her hair they look'd more gay Than glowing in their native bed. Undrest, at ev'ning, when she found Their odours lost, their colours past; She chang'd her look, and on the ground Her garland and her eye she cast. That eye dropt sense distinct and clear, As any muse's tongue could speak, When from its lid a pearly tear Ran trickling down her beauteous cheek. Dissembling what I knew too well; My love! my life! said I, explain This change of humour; pray thee tell: That falling tear.—What does it mean? She sigh'd, she smil'd; and to the flowers Pointing, the lovely moralist said: See! friend, in some few fleeting hours, See yonder, what a change is made! Ah me! the blooming pride of May, And that of beauty are but one: At morn both flourish bright and gay, Both fade at ev'ning, pale, and gone! At dawn poor Stella danc'd and sung; The am'rous youth around her bow'd; At night her fatal knell was rung! I saw and kiss'd her in her shroud; Such as she is, who dy'd to-day, Such I, alas! may be to-morrow; Go, Damon, bid thy muse display The justice of thy Cloe's sorrow.

Prior.

TO THE VIRGINS, TO MAKE

MUCH OF TIME

Gather ye rose-buds while ye may: Old Time is still a-flying; And this same flower that smiles to-day, To-morrow will be dying. The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun, The higher he's a-getting, The sooner will his race be run, And nearer he's to setting. That age is best, which is the first, When youth and blood are warmer; But being spent, the worse and worst Times will succeed the former. —Then be not coy, but use your time, And while ye may, go marry; For having lost but once your prime, You may for ever tarry.

Robert Herrick.

SONG OF MAY MORNING.

Now the bright morning-star, day's harbinger, Comes dancing from the east, and leads with her The flowery May, who from her green lap throws The yellow cowslip, and the pale primrose. Hail, bounteous May, that dost inspire Mirth, and youth, and warm desire; Woods and groves are of thy dressing, Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing. Thus we salute thee with our early song, And welcome thee, and wish thee long.

Milton.

Among the myrtles as I walk'd, Love and my Sight thus intertalk'd: Tell me, said I, in deep distress, Where I may find my Shepherdess? —Thou Fool, said Love, know'st thou not this? In everything that's sweet she is. In yon'd Carnation go and seek, There thou shalt find her lips and cheek; In that enamell'd Pansy by, There thou shalt have her curious eye; In bloom of Peach and Rose's bud There waves the streamer of her blood. —'Tis true, said I; and thereupon I went to pluck them one by one, To make of parts an unión; But on a sudden all were gone. At which I stopp'd; said Love, these be The true resemblance of Thee; For as these Flowers, thy joys must die; And in the turning of an eye; And all thy hopes of her must wither, Like those short sweets here knit together.

Robert Herrick.

FRAGMENT, IN WITHERSPOON'S

COLLECTION OF SCOTCH SONGS.

Tune—"Hughie Graham"

"O gin my love were yon red rose, "That grows upon the castle wa'; "And I mysel' a drap o' dew, "Into her bonnie breast to fa'! "Oh, there beyond expression blest, "I'd feast on beauty a' the night; "Seal'd on her silk-saft faulds to rest, "Till fley'd awa by Phœbus' light." O were my love yon lilac fair, Wi' purple blossoms to the spring; And I, a bird to shelter there, When wearied on my little wing; How I wad mourn, when it was torn By autumn wild, and winter rude! But I wad sing on wanton wing, When youthfu' May its bloom renew'd.[*]

[*] These stanzas were added by Burns.

THE DAISY.

Of all the floures in the mede Than love I most these floures white and rede Soch that men callen Daisies in our town, To hem I have so great affection, As I sayd erst, when comen is the Maie. That in my bedde there daweth me no daie, That I n'am up and walking in the mede To see this floure ayenst the Sunne sprede; Whan it up riseth early by the morrow, That blissful sight softeneth all my sorrow.

Chaucer.