Flora's Interpreter: Or, The American Book of Flowers and Sentiments

Front Cover
Marsh, Capen, Lyon and Webb, 1840 - Flower language - 262 pages
0 Reviews
 

What people are saying - Write a review

We haven't found any reviews in the usual places.

Other editions - View all

Common terms and phrases

Popular passages

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 183 - Go, lovely Rose ! Tell her, that wastes her time and me, That now she knows, When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to be. Tell her that's young And shuns to have her graces spied, That hadst thou sprung In deserts, where no men abide, Thou must have uncommended died. Small is the worth Of beauty from the light retired: Bid her come forth, Suffer herself to be desired, And not blush so to be admired.
Page 235 - Thou waitest late and com'st alone, When woods are bare and birds are flown, And frosts and shortening days portend The aged year is near his end. Then doth thy sweet and quiet eye Look through its fringes to the sky, Blue — blue — as if that sky let fall A flower from its cerulean wall.
Page 172 - LIKE as the damask rose you see, Or like the blossom on the tree, Or like the dainty flower of May, Or like the morning of the day, Or like the sun, or like the shade, Or like the gourd which Jonas had; Even such is man, whose thread is spun, Drawn out, and cut, and so is done.
Page 235 - GENTIAN. THOU blossom bright with autumn dew, And colored with the heaven's own blue, That openest when the quiet light Succeeds the keen and frosty night. Thou comest not when violets lean O'er wandering brooks and springs unseen, Or columbines, in purple dressed, Nod o'er the ground-bird's hidden nest. Thou waitest late and com'st alone, When woods are bare and birds are flown, And frosts and shortening days portend The aged year is near his end.
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 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 126 - LAMENT who will, in fruitless tears, The speed with which our moments fly ; I sigh not over vanished years, But watch the years that hasten by. Look, how they come, — a mingled crowd Of bright and dark, but rapid days ; Beneath them, like a summer cloud, The wide world changes as I gaze. What ! grieve that time has brought so soon The sober age of manhood on ! As idly might I weep, at noon, To see the blush of morning gone.
Page 145 - Here are sweet peas, on tip-toe for a flight: With wings of gentle flush o'er delicate white, And taper fingers catching at all things, To bind them all about with tiny rings.

Bibliographic information