LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS
|Balm of Gilead||Cure. Relief.|
|Balsam, Red||Touch me not. Impatient resolves.|
|Barberry||Sourness of temper.|
|Bay Leaf||I change but in death.|
|Bay (Rose) Rhododendron||Danger. Beware.|
|Bay Wreath||Reward of merit.|
|Bell Flower, Pyramidal||Constancy.|
|Bell Flower (small white)||Gratitude.|
|Belvedere||I declare against you.|
|Bladder Nut Tree||Frivolity. Amusement.|
|Blue-flowered Greek Valerian||Rupture.|
|Bramble||Lowliness. Envy. Remorse.|
|Branch of Currants||You please all.|
|Branch of Thorns||Severity. Rigour.|
|Bridal Rose||Happy love.|
|Bud of White Rose||Heart ignorant of love.|
|Bundle of Reeds, with their Panicles||Music.|
|Burdock||Importunity. Touch me not.|
|Buttercup (Kingcup)||Ingratitude. Childishness.|
|Butterfly Weed||Let me go.|
|Calla Æthiopica||Magnificent Beauty.|
|Camellia Japonica, Red||Unpretending excellence.|
|Camellia Japonica, White||Perfected loveliness.|
|Camomile||Energy in adversity.|
|Cape Jasmine||I’m too happy.|
|Carnation, Deep Red||Alas! for my poor heart.|
|Catchfly, Red||Youthful love.|
|Cedar of Lebanon||Incorruptible.|
|Cedar Leaf||I live for thee.|
|Celandine (Lesser)||Joys to come.|
|Cereus (Creeping)||Modest genius.|
|Cherry Tree||Good education.|
|Cherry Tree, White||Deception.|
|Chesnut Tree||Do me justice. Luxury.|
|China Aster, Double||I partake your sentiments.|
|China Aster, Single||I will think of it.|
|China or Indian Pink||Aversion.|
|China Rose||Beauty always new.|
|Chinese Chrysanthemum||Cheerfulness under adversity.|
|Christmas Rose||Relieve my anxiety.|
|Chrysanthemum, Red||I love.|
|Chrysanthemum, Yellow||Slighted love.|
|Cistus, or Rock Rose||Popular favour.|
|Cistus, Gum||I shall die to-morrow.|
|Clover, Four-leaved||Be mine.|
|Clover, White||Think of me.|
|Cockscomb Amaranth||Foppery. Affectation. Singularity.|
|Cudweed, American||Unceasing remembrance.|
|Currant||Thy frown will kill me.|
|Fennel||Worthy all praise. Strength.|
|Ficoides, Ice Plant||Your looks freeze me.|
|Flax||Domestic Industry. Fate. I feel your kindness.|
|Fleur-de-Lis||Flame. I burn.|
|Flowering Reed||Confidence in Heaven.|
|Garden Daisy||I partake your sentiments.|
|Garden Ranunculus||You are rich in attractions.|
|Garland of Roses||Reward of virtue.|
|Geranium, Ivy||Bridal favour.|
|Geranium, Lemon||Unexpected meeting.|
|Geranium, Nutmeg||Expected meeting.|
|Geranium, Oak-leaved||True friendship.|
|Geranium, Scarlet||Contorting. Stupidity.|
|Geranium, Wild||Steadfast piety.|
|Gillyflower||Bonds of affection.|
|Glory Flower||Glorious beauty.|
|Guelder Rose||Winter. Age.|
|Hand Flower Tree||Warning.|
|Helmet Flower (Monkshood)||Knight-errantry.|
|Hemlock||You will be my death.|
|Honey Flower||Love sweet and secret.|
|Honeysuckle||Generous and devoted affection.|
|Honeysuckle Coral||The colour of my fate.|
|Honeysuckle (French)||Rustic beauty.|
|Hortensia||You are cold.|
|Houseleek||Vivacity. Domestic industry.|
|Hundred-leaved Rose||Dignity of mind.|
|Hyacinth||Sport. Game. Play.|
|Hyacinth, White||Unobtrusive loveliness.|
|Hydrangea||A boaster. Heartlessness.|
|King-cups||Desire of Riches.|
|Night-blooming Cereus||Transient beauty.|
|Pride of China||Dissension.|
|Primrose, Red||Unpatronized merit.|
|Pyrus Japonica||Fairies’ fire.|
|Queen’s Rocket||You are the queen of
|Willow, French||Bravery and humanity.|
|Witch Hazel||A spell.|
|Wood Sorrel||Joy. Maternal tenderness.|
|Xeranthemum||Cheerfulness under adversity.|
|Zinnia||Thoughts of absent friends.|
The Language of Flowers
|I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host of golden Daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
The waves beside them danced; but they
For oft when on my couch I lie,
|Go, lovely Rose!
Tell her that wastes her time on me,
That now she knows,
When I resemble her to thee,
How sweet and fair she seems to be.
Tell her that’s young.
Small is the worth
Then die, that she
Yet, though thou fade,
|THE SENSITIVE PLANT.|
|A Sensitive Plant in a garden grew,
And the young winds fed it with silver dew,
And it opened its fan-like leaves to the light,
And closed them beneath the kisses of Night.
* * * * * *
But none ever trembled and panted with bliss
In the garden, the field, or the wilderness,
Like doe in the noontide with love’s sweet want,
As the companionless Sensitive Plant.
The snowdrop, and then the violet,
Then the pied wind-flowers and the tulip tall,
And the naiad-like lily of the vale.
And the hyacinth purple, and white, and blue,
And the rose like a nymph to the bath addrest,
And the wand-like lily, which lifted up,
And the jessamine faint, and the sweet tuberose,
The Sensitive Plant, which could give small fruit
For the Sensitive Plant has no bright flower;
And when evening descended from heaven above,
|O LUVE WILL VENTURE IN, &c.|
|O luve will venture in, where it daur na weel be seen,
O luve will venture in, where wisdom ance has been;
But I will down yon river rove, amang the wood sae green,
And a’ to pu’ a posie to my ain dear May.
The primrose I will pu’, the firstling o’ the year,
I’ll pu’ the budding rose, when Phœbus peeps in view,
The lily it is pure, and the lily it is fair.
The hawthorn I will pu’, wi’ its locks o’ siller grey,
The woodbine I will pu’ when the e’ening star is near,
I’ll tie the posie round w’ the silken band o’ luve,
|MY NANNIE’S AWA.|
|Tune—“There’ll never be peace” &c.|
|Now in her green mantle blithe Nature arrays.
And listens the lambkins that bleat o’er the braes,
While birds warble welcome in ilka green shaw;
But to me it’s delightless—my Nannie’s awa.
The snaw-drap and primrose our woodlands adorn,
Thou lav’rock that springs frae the dews of the lawn,
Come, autumn, sae pensive, in yellow and grey,
|THEIR GROVES, &c.|
|Tune—“Humours of Glen.”|
|Their groves o’ sweet myrtle let foreign lands reckon,
Where bright-beaming summers exalt the perfume;
Far dearer to me yon lone glen o’ green breckan,
Wi’ the burn stealing under the lang yellow broom.
Far dearer to me are yon humble broom bowers,
|TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY,|
|On turning one down with a plough, in April 1786.|
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 ihee now is past my po’w’r,
Thou bonnie gem.
Alas! it’s no thy neebor sweet,
Could blew the bitter-biting north
The flaunting flow’rs our gardens yield.
There, in thy scanty mantle clad,
Such is the fate of artless Maid,
Such is the fate of simple Bard,
Such fate to suffering worth is giv’n,
Ev’n thou who mourn’st the Daisy’s fate,
|LAMENT OF MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS.|
|On the Approach of Spring.|
|Now Nature hangs her mantle green
On every blooming tree,
And spreads her sheets c’ daisies white
Out o’er the grassy lea;
Now Phœbus cheers the crystal streams,
And glads the azure skies;
But nought can glad the weary wight
That fast in durance lies.
Now lav’rocks wake the merry morn,
Now blooms the lily by the bank,
I was the Queen o’ bonnie France,
But as for thee, thou false woman,
My son! my son! may kinder stars
Oh! soon, to me, may summer-suns
|RED AND WHITE ROSES.|
|Read in these Roses the sad story
Of my hard fate, and your own glory;
In the white you may discover
The paleness of a fainting lover;
In the red the flames still feeding
On my heart with fresh wounds bleeding.
The white will tell you how I languish,
And the red express my anguish.
The white my innocence displaying,
The red my martyrdom betraying;
The frowns that on your brow resided,
Have those roses thus divided.
Oh! let your smiles but clear the weather,
And then they both shall grow together.
|Sweet is the rose, but growes upon a brere;
Sweet is the Juniper, but sharpe his bough;
Sweet is the Eglantine, but pricketh nere;
Sweet is the Firbloom, but his branches rough;
Sweet is the Cypress, but his rind is tough,
Sweet is the Nut, but bitter is his pill;
Sweet is the Broome-flowere, but yet sowre enough;
And sweet is Moly, but his roote is ill.
So every sweet with sowre is tempred still,
That maketh it be coveted the more:
For easie things that may be got at will,
Most sorts of men doe set but little store.
Why then should I account of little pain,
That endless pleasure shall unto me gaine?
|FILLED WITH MORNING DEW.|
|Why do ye weep, sweet babes? Can tears
Speak grief in you,
Who were but born
Just as the modest morn
Teemed her refreshing dew?
Alas! ye have not known that shower
That mars a flower;
Nor felt the unkind
Breath of a blasting wind;
Nor are ye worn with years;
Or warped as we,
Who think it strange to see
Such pretty flowers, like to orphans young.
Speaking by tears before ye have a tongue.
Speak, whimpering younglings, and make known
|A RED, RED ROSE.|
|O, my luve’s like a red, red rose,
That’s newly sprung in June:
O, my luve’s like the melodie
That’s sweetly play’d in tune.
As fair art thou, my bonnie lass.
Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear,
And fare thee weel, my only luve!
|Virgins promised when I died,
That they would each primrose-tide
Duly, morn and evening, come,
And with flowers dress my tomb.
—Having promised, pay your debts,
Maids, and here strew violets.
|Music, when soft voices die,
Vibrates in the memory;
Odours when sweet violets sicken,
Love within the sense they quicken.
Rose leaves, when the rose is dead,
|Radiant sister of the day
Awake! arise! and come away!
To the wild woods and the plains,
To the pools where winter rains
Image all their roof of leaves,
Where the pine its garland weaves
Of sapless green, and ivy dun,
Round stems that never kiss the sun.
Where the lawns and pastures be
And the sandhills of the sea,
Where the melting hoar-frost wets
The daisy star that never sets,
And wind-flowers and violets
Which yet join not scent to hue
Crown the pale year weak and new:
When the night is left behind
In the deep east, dim and blind,
And the blue moon is over us,
And the multitudinous
Billows murmur at our feet,
Where the earth and ocean meet
And all things seem only one
In the universal sun.
|P. B. Shelley.|
|Fair Daffodils, we weep to see
You haste away so soon;
As yet, the early-rising sun
Has not attained its noon.
Until the hastening day
But to the even song;
And having prayed together, we
Will go with you along.
We have short time to stay as you,
|Lay a garland on my hearse
Of the dismal yew;
Maidens willow branches bear;
Say, I died true.
My love was false, but I was firm
From my hour of birth.
Upon my buried body lie
Lightly, gentle earth!
|Mourn, ilka grove the cushat kens!
Ye haz’lly shaws and briery dens!
Ye burnies, wimplin down your glens,
Wi’ toddlin din,
Or foaming strang, wi’ hasty stens,
Frae lin to lin.
Mourn little harebells o’er the lee;
At dawn, when ev’ry grassy blade
Mourn, spring, thou darling of the year;
Thou, autumn, wi’ thy yellow hair,
|TO THE SMALL CELANDINE.|
|Ppansies, Lilies, King-cups, Daisies,
Let them live upon their praises;
Long as there’s a sun that sets,
Primroses will have their glory;
Long as there are Violets,
They will have a place in story;
There’s a flower that shall be mine,
‘Tis the little Celandine.
Ere a leaf is on the bush,
Comfort have thou of thy merit,
Ill befall the yellow flowers,
Prophet of delight and mirth,
|Ffair pledges of a fruitful tree,
Why do ye fall so fast?
Your date is not so past,
But you may stay yet here awhile
To blush and gently smile.
And go at last.
What, were you born to be,
But you are lovely leaves, where we
|THE LILY AND THE ROSE.|
|The nymph must lose her female friend,
If more admired than she—
But where will fierce contention end,
If flowers can disagree.
Within the garden’s peaceful scene
The Rose soon redden’d into rage,
The Lily’s height bespoke command,
This civil bick’ring and debate
Yours is, she said, the nobler hue,
Thus, soothed and reconciled, each seeks
|Why this flower is now called so,
List, sweet maids, and you shall know.
Understand this firstling was
Once a brisk and bonny lass,
Kept as close as Danae was,
Who a sprightly springald loved;
And to have it fully proved,
Up she got upon a wall,
‘Tempting down to slide withal;
But the silken twist untied,
So she fell, and, bruised, she died.
Jove, in pity of the deed,
And her loving, luckless speed,
Turn’d her to this plant we call
Now “the flower of the wall.”
|Ask me why I send you here,
This firstling of the infant year;
Ask me why I send to you
This Primrose all bepearled with dew;
I straight will whisper in your ears,
The sweets of love are washed with tears.
Ask me why this flower doth show
|In midst of all, there lay a sleeping youth
Of fondest beauty. Sideway his face reposed
On one white arm, and tenderly unclosed,
By tenderest pressure, a faint damask mouth
To slumbery pout; just as the morning south
Disparts a dew-lipp’d rose. Above his head,
Four lily stalks did their white honours wed
To make a coronal; and round him grew
All tendrils green, of every bloom and hue,
Together intertwined and trammel’d fresh:
The vine of glossy sprout; the ivy mesh,
Shading its Ethiop berries; and woodbine,
Of velvet leaves, and bugle blooms divine.
Stood serene Cupids watching silently.
One, kneeling to a lyre, touch’d the strings,
Muffling to death the pathos with his wings;
And, ever and anon, uprose to look
At the youth’s slumber; while another took
A willow bough, distilling odorous dew,
And shook it on his hair; another flew
In through the woven roof, and fluttering-wise,
Rain’d violets upon his sleeping eyes.
|Modonna, wherefore hast thou sent to me
Sweet Basil and Mignonette,
Embleming love and health, which never yet
In the same wreath might be.
Alas, and they are wet!
Is it with thy kisses or thy tears?
For never rain or dew
Such fragrance drew
From plant or flower; the very doubt endears
My sadness ever new,
The sighs I breathe, the tears I shed, for thee.
|P. B. Shelley.|
|There grew pied Wind-flowers and Violets,
Daisies, those pearl’d Arcturi of the earth,
The constellated flowers that never set;
Faint Oxlips; tender Blue-bells, at whose birth
The sod scarce heaved; and that tall flower that wets
Its mother’s face with Heaven-collected tears,
When the low wind, its playmate’s voice, it hears.
And in the warm hedge grew lush Eglantine,
And nearer to the river’s trembling edge
|P. B. Shelley.|
|Fade, Flow’rs! fade, Nature will have it so;
‘Tis but what we must in our autumn do!
And as your leaves lie quiet on the ground,
The loss alone by those that lov’d them found;
So in the grave shall we as quiet lie,
Miss’d by some few that lov’d our company;
But some so like to thorns and nettles live,
That none for them can, when they perish, grieve.
|ARRANGEMENT OF A BOUQUET.|
|Here damask Roses, white and red,
Out of my lap first take I,
Which still shall run along the thread,
My chiefest flower this make I.
Amongst these Roses in a row,
The pretty Pansy then I’ll tie,
The curious choice clove July flower,
Whose sundry colours of one kind,
A course of Cowslips then I’ll stick,
Then with these Marigolds I’ll make
The Lily and the Fleur-de-lis.
The Daffodil most dainty is,
These in their natures only are
Sweet-williams, Campions, Sops-in-wine,
|There is a garden in her face,
Where roses and white lilies grow;
A heavenly paradise is that place.
Wherein all pleasant fruits do grow;
There cherries grow that none may buy
Till cherry ripe themselves do cry.
Those cherries fairly do enclose
Her eyes like angels watch them still,
|The pride of every grove I chose,
The violet sweet and lily fair,
The dappled pink and blushing rose,
To deck my charming Cloe’s hair.
At morn the nymph vouchaf’d to place
The flowers she wore along the day;
Undrest, at ev’ning, when she found
That eye dropt sense distinct and clear,
Dissembling what I knew too well;
She sigh’d, she smil’d; and to the flowers
Ah me! the blooming pride of May,
At dawn poor Stella danc’d and sung;
Such as she is, who dy’d to-day,
|TO THE VIRGINS, TO MAKE,|
|MUCH OF TIME,|
|Gather ye rose-buds while ye may:
Old Time is still a-flying;
And this same flower that smiles to-day,
To-morrow will be dying.
The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,
That age is best, which is the first,
—Then be not coy, but use your time,
|SONG OF MAY MORNING.|
|Now the bright morning-star, day’s harbinger,
Comes dancing from the east, and leads with her
The flowery May, who from her green lap throws
The yellow cowslip, and the pale primrose.
Hail, bounteous May, that dost inspire
Mirth, and youth, and warm desire;
Woods and groves are of thy dressing,
Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing.
Thus we salute thee with our early song,
And welcome thee, and wish thee long.
|Among the myrtles as I walk’d,
Love and my Sight thus intertalk’d:
Tell me, said I, in deep distress,
Where I may find my Shepherdess?
—Thou Fool, said Love, know’st thou not this?
In everything that’s sweet she is.
In yon’d Carnation go and seek,
There thou shalt find her lips and cheek;
In that enamell’d Pansy by,
There thou shalt have her curious eye;
In bloom of Peach and Rose’s bud
There waves the streamer of her blood.
—’Tis true, said I; and thereupon
I went to pluck them one by one,
To make of parts an unión;
But on a sudden all were gone.
At which I stopp’d; said Love, these be
The true resemblance of Thee;
For as these Flowers, thy joys must die;
And in the turning of an eye;
And all thy hopes of her must wither,
Like those short sweets here knit together.
|FRAGMENT, IN WITHERSPOON’S|
|COLLECTION OF SCOTCH SONGS.|
|“O gin my love were yon red rose,
“That grows upon the castle wa’;
“And I mysel’ a drap o’ dew,
“Into her bonnie breast to fa’!
“Oh, there beyond expression blest,
O were my love yon lilac fair,
How I wad mourn, when it was torn
|[*] These stanzas were added by Burns.|
|Of all the floures in the mede
Than love I most these floures white and rede
Soch that men callen Daisies in our town,
To hem I have so great affection,
As I sayd erst, when comen is the Maie.
That in my bedde there daweth me no daie,
That I n’am up and walking in the mede
To see this floure ayenst the Sunne sprede;
Whan it up riseth early by the morrow,
That blissful sight softeneth all my sorrow.
|B||Bladder Nut Tree||Frivolity. Amusement.||9|
|C||Cowslip, American||Divine beauty. You are my divinity.||11|
|E||Enchanter’s Nightshade||Witchcraft. Sorcery.||16|
|H||Hyacinth||Sport. Game. Play.||21|
|I||Indian Jasmine (Ipomœa)||Attachment.||23|
|J||Jacob’s Ladder||Come down.||24|
|P||Periwinkle, Blue||Early friendship.||32|
|Q||Queen’s Rocket||You are the Queen of Coquettes. Fashion.||35|
|W||Wood Sorrel||Joy. Maternal tenderness.||43|
|X||Xeranthemum||Cheerfulness under adversity.||45|