The language of flowers The floral offering ; a token of affection and esteem ; comprising the language and poetry of flowers
* * * * *
The Cypress is the emblem of mourning.
_Shakspeare._
* * * * *
Alas, for earthly joy, and hope, and love,
Thus stricken down, e’en in their holiest hour!
What deep, heart-wringing anguish must they prove,
Who live to weep the blasted tree or flower!
Oh, wo, deep wo to earthly love’s fond trust,
When all it once has worshipped lies in dust!
_Mrs. Embury._
WALL-FLOWER.... _Fidelity in Adversity_.
This flower derives its name from the circumstance of its growing upon
old walls, the casements and battlements of ancient castles, and among
the ruins of abbeys. The troubadors were accustomed to wearing a bouquet
of Wall-flowers, as the emblem of an affection which is proof against
time and the frowns of fortune.
* * * * *
_Adah._--Alas! thou sinnest now, my Cain; thy words
Sound impious in mine ears.
_Cain._--Then leave me!
_Adah._--Never,
Though thy God left thee!
_Byron._
* * * * *
An emblem true thou art
Of love’s enduring lustre given
To cheer a lonely heart.
_Barton._
* * * * *
Flower of the solitary place!
Gray Ruin’s golden crown,
That lendest melancholy grace
To haunts of old renown;
Thou mantlest o’er the battlements
By strife or storm decayed;
And fillest up each envious rent
Time’s canker-tooth hath made.
_Moir._
* * * * *
Though human, thou didst not deceive me;
Though woman, thou didst not forsake;
Though loved, thou forborest to grieve me;
Though slandered, thou never couldst shake;
Though trusted, thou didst not disclaim me;
Though parted, it was not to fly;
Though watchful, ’twas not to defame me;
Nor, mute, that the world might belie.
_Byron._
* * * * *
Yes, love! my breast, at sorrow’s call,
Shall tremble like thine own;
If from those eyes the tear-drops fall,
They shall not fall alone.
Our souls, like heaven’s aerial bow,
Blend every light within their glow,
Of joy or sorrow known;
And grief, divided with thy heart,
Were sweeter far than joy apart.
_Anon._
HAWTHORN.... _Hope_.
Various significations have been given to the Hawthorn. Among the Turks,
a branch of it expresses the wish of a lover to receive a kiss from the
object of his affection. Among the ancient Greeks, the Hawthorn was a
symbol of conjugal union; its blossomed boughs were carried about at
their wedding festivities, and the newly-married couple were even
lighted to their bridal chamber with torches made of its wood. In
England, the Hawthorn is used in the sports of May-days, and is,
therefore, frequently called May. There is a proverb among the rural
inhabitants of that country, that a “store of haws portend cold
winters.” Though the Hawthorn is quoted as the emblem of Hope, it must
be considered more particularly as the lover’s hope.
* * * * *
HOW MAY WAS FIRST MADE.
As Spring upon a silver cloud
Lay looking on the world below,
Watching the breezes as they bowed
The buds and blossoms to and fro,
She saw the fields with Hawthorns walled:
Said Spring, “New buds I will create.”
She to a Flower-Spirit called,
Who on the month of May did wait,
And bade her fetch a Hawthorn-spray,
That she might make the buds of May.
Said Spring, “The grass looks green and bright,
The Hawthorn-hedges too are green,
I’ll sprinkle them with flowers of light,
Such stars as earth has never seen;
And all through England’s girded vales,
Her steep hill-sides and haunted streams,
Where woodlands dip into the dales,
Where’er the Hawthorn stands and dreams,
Where thick-leaved trees make dark the day,
I’ll light each nook with flowers of May.
Like pearly dew-drops, white and round,
The shut-up buds shall first appear.
And in them be such fragrance found,
As breeze before did never bear;
Such as in Eden only dwelt,
When angels hovered round its bowers,
And long-haired Eve at morning knelt
In innocence amid the flowers:
While the whole air was, every way,
Filled with a perfume sweet as May.
And oft shall groups of children come,
Threading their way through shady places,
From many a peaceful English home,
The sunshine falling on their faces;
Starting with merry voice the thrush,
As through green lanes they wander singing,
To gather the sweet Hawthorn bush;
Which, homeward in the evening bringing
With smiling faces, they shall say,
‘There’s nothing half so sweet as May.’
And many a poet yet unborn
Shall link its name with some sweet lay,
And lovers oft at early morn
Shall gather blossoms of the May;
With eyes bright as the silver dews,
Which on the rounded May-buds sleep,
And lips, whose parted smiles diffuse
A sunshine o’er the watch they keep,
Shall open all their white array
Of pearls, ranged like the buds of May.”
Spring shook the cloud on which she lay,
And silvered o’er the Hawthorn spray,
Then showered down the buds of May.
_Miller._
* * * * *
With hope all pleases, nothing comes amiss.
_Rogers._
* * * * *
And Hawthorn’s early blooms appear,
Like youthful hope upon life’s year.
_Drayton._
* * * * *
Gay was the love of paradise he drew
And pictured in his fancy; he did dwell
Upon it till it had a life; he threw
A tint of heaven athwart it--who can tell
The yearnings of his heart, the charm, the spell,
That bound him to that vision?
_Percival._
LOVE-LIES-BLEEDING.... _Deserted Love_.
This beautiful emblem of love, wounded and bereaved by fate, is a
species of Amaranthus. The flower is of a reddish-purple hue, which
circumstance suggests its name.
* * * * *
A single rose is shedding
Its lovely lustre meek and pale:
It looks as planted by despair--
So white, so faint--the slightest gale
Might whirl the leaves on high.
_Byron._
* * * * *
And on with many a step of pain,
Our weary race is sadly run;
And still, as on we plod our way,
We find, as life’s gay dreams depart,
To close our being’s troubled day,
Naught left us but a broken heart.
_Percival._
* * * * *
Nor would I change my buried love
For any heart of living mould,
No--for I am a hero’s child--
I’ll hunt my quarry in the wild;
And still my home this mansion make,
Of all unheeded and unheeding,
And cherish, for my warrior’s sake,
The flower of Love-lies-bleeding.
_Campbell._
* * * * *
Upon her face there was the tint of grief,
The settled shadow of an inward strife,
And an unquiet drooping of the eye,
As if its lid were charged with unshed tears.
_Byron._
MYRTLE.... _Love_.
The Myrtle has ever been consecrated to Venus. At Rome, the temple of
the goddess was surrounded by a grove of Myrtles; and in Greece, she was
adorned under the name of Myrtilla. It was observed by the ancients,
that, wherever the Myrtle grew, it excluded all other plants. So love,
wherever it is permitted to grow, excludes all other feelings. The
ladies of modern Rome retain a strong affection for this plant,
preferring its odour to that of the most fragrant essences.
* * * * *
Our love came as the early dew
Comes unto drooping flowers;
Dropping its first sweet freshness on
Our life’s dull, lonely hours.
_Mrs. R. S. Nichols._
* * * * *
Love is a celestial harmony
Of likely hearts, composed of stars’ consent,
Which join together in sweet sympathy,
To work each other’s joy and true content,
Which they have harboured since their first descent,
Out of their heavenly bowers, where they did see
And know each other here beloved to be.
_Spenser._
* * * * *
I have done penance for contemning love;
Whose high imperious thoughts have punished me
With bitter fasts, with penitential groans,
With nightly tears, and daily heart-sore sighs.
_Shakspeare._
* * * * *
The Myrtle on thy breast or brow
Would lively hope and love avow.
_J. H. Wiffen._
* * * * *
Comfort cannot soothe
The heart whose life is centred in the thought
Of happy loves, once known, and still in hope,
Living with a consuming energy.
_Percival._
* * * * *
As in the sweetest bud
The eating canker dwells, so eating love
Inhabits in the finest wits of all.
_Shakspeare._
LILY OF THE VALLEY.... _Modesty_.
The beautiful Lily of the Valley is the fit emblem of the union of
beauty, simplicity, and love of retirement. It adds an indescribable
charm to the spots where it blooms. Its snowy hues and general delicacy
of appearance excite emotions of a kindred nature to those we experience
in the company of one whose heart is free from guile, and whose manners
are gentle and unpretending.
* * * * *
Lilacs then, and daffodillies,
And the nice-leaved, lesser Lilies,
Shading, like detected light,
Their little green-tipt lamps of white.
_Hunt._
* * * * *
I had found out a sweet green spot,
Where a Lily was blooming fair;
The din of the city disturbed it not,
But the spirit that shades the quiet cot
With its wings of love was there.
I found that Lily’s bloom,
When the day was dark and chill;
It smiled like a star in a misty gloom,
And it sent abroad a soft perfume,
Which is floating around me still.
_Percival._
* * * * *
The Lily, in whose snow-white bells
Simplicity delights and dwells.
_Balfour._
HYACINTH.... _Constancy_.
The blue Hyacinth is mentioned by several English writers as the emblem
of constancy. There are many varieties found in Europe and America, but
the variety known in Scotland as the “Blue Bell” is the most common and
the most celebrated.
* * * * *
When daisies blush, and wind-flowers wet with dew,
When shady lanes with Hyacinth’s are blue,
When the elm blossoms o’er the brooding bird,
And, wild and wide, the plover’s wail is heard,
Where melts the mist on mountains far away,
Till morn is kindled into brightest day.
_Elliott._
* * * * *
Then come the wild weather, come sleet, or come snow,
We will stand by each other however it blow.
Oppression and sickness, and sorrow, and pain,
Shall be to our true love as links to the chain.
_Longfellow._
* * * * *
She loves him yet!
The flower the false one gave her
When last he came,
Is still with her wild tears wet.