The language and poetry of flowers; with a complete vocabulary; together with a collection of selected poems

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Page 72 - 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.
Page 7 - How often have I paused on every charm, The sheltered cot , the cultivated farm , The never-failing brook, the busy mill, The decent church that topt the neighbouring hill, The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade, For talking age and whispering lovers made!
Page 30 - WEE, modest, crimson-tipped flow'r, Thou's met me in an evil hour ; For I maun crush amang the stoure Thy slender stem. To spare thee now is past my pow'r, Thou bonie gem. Alas ! it's no thy neebor sweet, The bonie Lark, companion meet ! Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet ! Wi' spreckl'd breast, When upward-springing, blythe, to greet The purpling east.
Page 119 - Under the greenwood tree Who loves to lie with me, And tune his merry note Unto the sweet bird's throat, Come hither, come hither, come hither : Here shall he see No enemy But winter and rough weather.
Page 29 - Fair Daffodils, we weep to see You haste away so soon ; As yet the early rising sun Has not attained his noon. Stay, stay, Until the hasting day Has run But to the even-song; And, having prayed together, we Will go with you along.
Page 80 - Roses, their sharp spines being gone, Not royal in their smells alone, But in their hue ; Maiden pinks, of odour faint, Daisies smell-less, yet most quaint, And sweet thyme true...
Page 46 - 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...
Page 112 - And purple all the ground with vernal flowers. Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies, The tufted crow-toe and pale jessamine, The white pink, and the pansy freaked with jet, The glowing violet, The musk-rose, and the well-attired woodbine, With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head, And every flower that sad embroidery wears ; Bid Amaranthus all his beauty shed, And daffadillies fill their cups with tears, To strew the laureate hearse where Lycid lies.
Page 76 - Hark, now I push its wicket, the moss Hinders the hinges and makes them wince ! She must have reached this shrub ere she turned, As back with that murmur the wicket swung; For she laid the poor snail, my chance foot spurned, To feed and forget it the leaves among.
Page 126 - All things to man's delightful use: the roof Of thickest covert, was inwoven shade, Laurel and myrtle, and what higher grew Of firm and fragrant leaf; on either side Acanthus and each odorous bushy shrub Fenced up the verdant wall, each beauteous flower, Iris all hues, roses, and jessamine, Reared high their flourished heads between, and wrought Mosaic; under foot the violet, Crocus, and hyacinth with rich inlay Broidered the ground, more coloured than with stone Of costliest emblem: other creature...

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