LOVE-LETTERS MADE OF FLOWERS.

ON A PRINT OF ONE OF THEM IN A BOOK.

AN exquisite invention this,
Worthy of Love's most honied kiss,
This art of writing billet-doux

In buds, and odours, and bright hues!
In saying all one feels and thinks
In clever daffodils and pinks;
In puns of tulips; and in phrases,
Charming for their truth, of daisies;
Uttering, as well as silence may,
The sweetest words the sweetest way.
How fit too for the lady's bosom !
The place where billet-doux repose 'em.

What delight, in some sweet spot
Combining love with garden plot,
At once to cultivate one's flowers
And one's epistolary powers!

In

Growing one's own choice words and fancies
orange tubs, and beds of pansies;
One's sighs, and passionate declarations
In odorous rhetoric of carnations;
Seeing how far one's stocks will reach;
Taking due care one's flowers of speech
To guard from blight as well as bathos,
And watering, every day, one's pathos!

A letter comes, just gather'd. We
Dote on its tender brilliancy;
Inhale its delicate expressions
Of balm and pea, and its confessions
Made with as sweet a Maiden's Blush
As ever morn bedew'd on bush,
(Tis in reply to one of ours,

Made of the most convincing flowers,)

Then after we have kiss'd its wit
And heart, in water putting it,
(To keep its remarks fresh,) go round
Our little eloquent plot of ground,
And with enchanted hands compose
Our answer, all of lily and rose,
Of tuberose and of violet,

And Little Darling (Mignonette)
Of Look at me and Call me to you
(Words, that while they greet, go through you),
Of Thoughts, of Flames, Forget-me-not,
Bridewort,-in short, the whole blest lot
Of vouchers for a life-long kiss,

And literally, breathing bliss.,

SONGS AND CHORUS OF THE FLOWERS.

ROSES.

We are blushing Roses,

Bending with our fulness,
'Midst our close-capp'd sister buds,

Warming the green coolness.

Whatsoe'er of beauty

Yearns and yet reposes,

Blush, and bosom, and sweet breath,

Took a shape in roses.

Hold one of us lightly,—

See from what a slender

Stalk we bow'r in heavy blooms,

And roundness rich and tender.

Know you not our only

Rival flow'r the human?

Loveliest weight on lightest foot,
Joy-abundant woman?

LILIES.

We are Lilies fair

The flower of virgin light ; Nature held us forth, and said, "Lo! my thoughts of white."

Ever since then, angels
Hold us in their hands;

You may see them where they take
In pictures their sweet stands.

Like the garden's angels
Also do we seem,

And not the less for being crown'd
With a golden dream.

Could you see around us

The enamour'd air,

You would see it pale with bliss
To hold a thing so fair.

VIOLETS.

We are violets blue,

For our sweetness found Careless in the mossy shades, Looking on the ground.

Love's dropp'd eyelids and a kiss,— Such our breath and blueness is.

Io, the mild shape

Hidden by Jove's fears,

Found us first i' the sward, when she For hunger stoop'd in tears. "Wheresoe'er her lip she sets,"

Jove said, "be breaths call'd Violets."

Wild-rose, Sweet-briar, Eglantine,
All these pretty names are mine,
And scent in every leaf is mine,
And a leaf for all is mine,

And the scent-Oh, that's divine!
Happy-sweet and pungent-fine,
Pure as dew, and pick'd as wine.

As the rose in gardens dress'd
Is the lady self-possess'd,
I'm the lass in simple vest,

The country lass whose blood's the best.
Were the beams that thread the briar
In the morn with golden fire
Scented too, they'd smell like me,
All Elysian pungency.

POPPIES.

We are slumberous poppies,
Lords of Lethe downs,
Some awake, and some asleep,
Sleeping in our crowns.

What perchance our dreams may know,
Let our serious beauty show.

Central depth of purple,

Leaves more bright than rose,

Who shall tell what brightest thought

Out of darkest grows?

Who, through what funereal pain

Souls to love and peace attain ?

Visions aye are on us,

Unto eyes of power,

Pluto's alway setting sun,
And Proserpine's bower:

There, like bees, the pale souls come
For our drink with drowsy hum.

Taste, ye mortals, also;
Milky-hearted, we;

Taste, but with a reverent care;
Active-patient be.

Too much gladness brings to gloom
Those who on the gods presume.46

SONGS OF THE FLOWERS.

WE are the sweet Flowers,

Born of sunny showers,

Think, whene'er you see us, what our beauty saith: Utterance mute and bright

Of some unknown delight,

We fill the air with pleasure, by our simple breath: All who see us, love us;

We befit all places;

Unto sorrow we give smiles; and unto graces, graces.

Mark our ways, how noiseless
All, and sweetly voiceless,

Though the March winds pipe to make our passage clear;

Not a whisper tells

Where our small seed dwells,

Nor is known the moment green, when our tips

appear.

We thread the earth in silence,

In silence build our bowers,

And leaf by leaf in silence show, till we laugh atop, sweet Flowers!