Flora's Interpreter: Or, The American Book of Flowers and Sentiments (Google eBook)

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Marsh, Capen & Lyon, 1838 - Flower language - 262 pages
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Page 251 - And the yellow sunflower by the brook in autumn beauty stood, Till fell the frost from the clear, cold heaven, as falls the plague on men, And the brightness of their smile was gone from upland, glade, and glen. And now, when comes the calm, mild day, as still such days will come, To call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter home; When the sound of dropping nuts is heard though all the trees are still, And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill; The south wind searches for the...
Page 251 - In the cold moist earth we laid her, when the forest cast the leaf, And we wept that one so lovely should have a life so brief : Yet not unmeet it was that one, like that young friend of ours, So gentle and so beautiful, should perish with the flowers.
Page 17 - The eternal regions. Lowly reverent Towards either throne they bow, and to the ground With solemn adoration down they cast Their crowns inwove with amarant and gold : Immortal amarant, a flower which once In Paradise, fast by the Tree of Life, Began to bloom...
Page 17 - Celestial voices Hymn it unto our souls : according harps, By angel fingers touched when the mild stars Of morning sang together, sound forth still The song of our great immortality...
Page 96 - Of her bright face one glance will trace A picture on the brain, And of her voice in echoing hearts A sound must long remain; But memory, such as mine of her, So very much endears, When death is nigh, my latest sigh Will not be life's but hers. I...
Page 251 - THE melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sere, Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves lie dead; They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's tread ; The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs the jay, And from the wood-top calls the crow through all the gloomy day. Where are the flowers, the fair young...
Page 157 - OH, fairest of the rural maids ! Thy birth was in the forest shades ; Green boughs, and glimpses of the sky, Were all that met thine infant eye. Thy sports, thy wanderings, when a child, Were ever in the sylvan wild ; And all the beauty of the place Is in thy heart and on thy face. The twilight of the trees and rocks Is in the light shade of thy locks ; Thy step is as the wind, that weaves Its playful way among the leaves.
Page 251 - Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately sprang and stood In brighter light, and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood ? Alas! they all are in their graves, the gentle race of flowers Are lying in their lowly beds, with the fair and good of ours. The rain is falling where they lie, but the cold November rain Calls not from out the gloomy earth the lovely ones again.
Page 251 - The wind-flower and the violet, they perished long ago ; And the brier-rose and the orchis died amid the summer glow; But on the hill the golden-rod, and the aster in the wood. And the yellow sunflower by the brook, in autumn beauty stood, Till fell the frost from the clear, cold heaven, as falls the plague on men.
Page 233 - As that the sweet-brier yields it ; and the shower Wets not a rose that buds in beauty's bower One half so lovely ; yet it grows along The poor girl's pathway, by the poor man's door. Such are the simple folks it dwells among; And humble as the bud, so humble be the song.

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