|Sweet letters of the angel tongue,|
Ive loved ye long and well,
And never have failed in your fragrance sweet
To find some secret spell,
A charm that has bound me with witching power,
For mine is the old belief,
That midst your sweets and midst your bloom,
Theres a soul in every leaf!
M. M. BallouFlowers.
|Take the flower from my breast, I pray thee,|
Take the flower, too, from out my tresses;
And then go hence; for, see, the night is fair,
The stars rejoice to watch thee on thy way.
Third Poem in Bard of the Dimbovitza; Rumanian Folksongs. Collected by Hélène Vacaresco. English by Carmen Sylva and Alma Strettell. (Quoted by Galsworthy, on fly leaf of The Dark Flower.)
| As for marigolds, poppies, hollyhocks, and valorous sunflowers, we shall never have a garden without them, both for their own sake, and for the sake of old-fashioned folks, who used to love them.|
Henry Ward BeecherStar Papers. A Discourse of Flowers.
| Flowers have an expression of countenance as much as men or animals. Some seem to smile; some have a sad expression; some are pensive and diffident; others again are plain, honest and upright, like the broad-faced sunflower and the hollyhock.|
Henry Ward BeecherStar Papers. A Discourse of Flowers.
|Flowers are Loves truest language; they betray,|
Like the divining rods of Magi old,
Where precious wealth lies buried, not of gold,
But lovestrong love, that never can decay!
Park BenjaminSonnet. Flowers, Loves Truest Language.
|Thick on the woodland floor|
Gay company shall be,
Primrose and Hyacinth
And frail Anemone,
Woodsorrels pencilled veil,
And Orchis purple and pale.
Robert BridgesIdle Flowers.
|I have loved flowers that fade,|
Within whose magic tents
Rich hues have marriage made
With sweet unmemoried scents.
Robert BridgesShorter Poems. Bk. II. 13.
|Brazen helm of daffodillies,|
With a glitter toward the light.
Purple violets for the mouth,
Breathing perfumes west and south;
And a sword of flashing lilies,
Holden ready for the fight.
E. B. BrowningHector in the Garden.
|Ah, ah, Cytherea! Adonis is dead.|
She wept tear after tear, with the blood which was shed,
And both turned into flowers for the earths garden-close;
Her tears, to the wind-flower,his blood, to the rose.
E. B. BrowningLament for Adonis. St. 6.
|The flower-girls prayer to buy roses and pinks,|
Held out in the smoke, like stars by day.
E. B. BrowningThe Souls Travelling.
| Yet heres eglantine,|
Heres ivy!take them as I used to do
Thy flowers, and keep them where they shall not pine.
Instruct thine eyes to keep their colours true,
And tell thy soul their roots are left in mine.
E. B. BrowningTrans. from the Portuguese. XLIV.
|The windflower and the violet, they perished long ago,|
And the brier-rose and the orchis died amid the summer glow;
But on the hills the golden-rod, and the aster in the wood,
And the yellow sunflower by the brook, in autumn beauty stood,
Till fell the frost from the clear cold heaven, as falls the plague on men,
And the brightness of their smile was gone, from upland glade and glen.
BryantDeath of the Flowers.
|Where fall the tears of love the rose appears,|
And where the ground is bright with friendships tears,
Forget-me-not, and violets, heavenly blue,
Spring glittering with the cheerful drops like dew.
BryantTrans. of N. Müllers Paradise of Tears.
|Who that has loved knows not the tender tale|
Which flowers reveal, when lips are coy to tell?
Bulwer-LyttonCorn Flowers. The First Violets. Bk. I. St. 1.
|Mourn, little harebells, oer the lea;|
Ye stately foxgloves fair to see!
Ye woodbines, hanging bonnilie
In scented bowers!
Ye roses on your thorny tree
The first o flowrs.
BurnsElegy on Capt. Matthew Henderson.
|Now blooms the lily by the bank,|
The primrose down the brae;
The hawthorns budding in the glen,
And milkwhite is the slae.
BurnsLament of Mary, Queen of Scots.
|The snowdrop and primrose our woodlands adorn,|
And violets bathe in the wet o the morn.
BurnsMy Nannies Awa.
|Rose, what is become of thy delicate hue?|
And where is the violets beautiful blue?
Does aught of its sweetness the blossom beguile?
That meadow, those daisies, why do they not smile?
John ByromA Pastoral. St. 8.
|Ye field flowers! the gardens eclipse you tis true:|
Yet wildings of nature, I dote upon you,
For ye waft me to summers of old,
When the earth teemd around me with fairy delight,
And when daisies and buttercups gladdend my sight,
Like treasures of silver and gold.
|The berries of the brier rose|
Have lost their rounded pride:
The bitter-sweet chrysanthemums
Are drooping heavy-eyed.
Alice CaryFaded Leaves.
|I know not which I love the most,|
Nor which the comeliest shows,
The timid, bashful violet
Or the royal-hearted rose:
The pansy in her purple dress,
The pink with cheek of red,
Or the faint, fair heliotrope, who hangs,
Like a bashful maid her head.
Phebe CarySpring Flowers.
|They know the time to go!|
The fairy clocks strike their inaudible hour
In field and woodland, and each punctual flower
Bows at the signal an obedient head
And hastes to bed.
Susan CoolidgeTime to Go.
| Not a flower|
But shows some touch, in freckle, streak or stain,
Of his unrivalld pencil.
CowperThe Task. Bk. VI. L. 241.
| Flowers are words|
Which even a babe may understand.
Bishop CoxeThe Singing of Birds.
|And all the meadows, wide unrolled,|
Were green and silver, green and gold,
Where buttercups and daisies spun
Their shining tissues in the sun.
Julia C. R. DorrUnanswered.
|The harebells nod as she passes by,|
The violet lifts its tender eye,
The ferns bend her steps to greet,
And the mosses creep to her dancing feet.
Julia C. R. DorrOver the Wall.
|Up from the gardens floated the perfume|
Of roses and myrtle, in their perfect bloom.
Julia C. R. DorrVashtis Scroll. L. 91.
|The rose is fragrant, but it fades in time:|
The violet sweet, but quickly past the prime:
White lilies hang their heads, and soon decay,
And white snow in minutes melts away.
DrydenTrans. from Theocritus. The Despairing Lover. L. 57.
|The flowers of the forest are a wede away.|
Jane ElliottThe Flowers of the Forest.
|Why does the rose her grateful fragrance yield,|
And yellow cowslips paint the smiling field?
GayPanthea. L. 71.
|They speak of hope to the fainting heart,|
With a voice of promise they come and part,
They sleep in dust through the wintry hours,
They break forth in glorybring flowers, bright flowers!
Felicia D. HemansBring Flowers.
|Through the laburnums dropping gold|
Rose the light shaft of orient mould,
And Europes violets, faintly sweet,
Purpled the moss-beds at its feet.
Felicia D. HemansPalm-Tree.
|Faire pledges of a fruitful tree|
Why do yee 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.
|The daisy is fair, the day-lily rare,|
The bud o the rose as sweet as its bonnie.
HoggAuld Joe Nicolsons Nannie.
|What are the flowers of Scotland,|
All others that excel?
The lovely flowers of Scotland,
All others that excel!
The thistles purple bonnet,
And bonny heather bell,
Oh, theyre the flowers of Scotland.
All others that excel!
HoggThe Flowers of Scotland.
| Yellow japanned buttercups and star-disked dandelions,just as we see them lying in the grass, like sparks that have leaped from the kindling sun of summer.|
HolmesThe Professor at the Breakfast Table. X.
|I remember, I remember|
The roses, red and white,
The violets, and the lily-cups,
Those flowers made of light!
The lilacs, where the robin built,
And where my brother set
The laburnum on his birthday,
The tree is living yet.
HoodI Remember, I Remember.
|I may not to the world impart|
The secret of its power,
But treasured in my inmost heart
I keep my faded flower.
Ellen C. HowarthTis but a Little Faded Flower.
|Tis but a little faded flower,|
But oh, how fondly dear!
Twill bring me back one golden hour,
Through many a weary year.
Ellen C. HowarthTis but a Little Faded Flower.
|Growing ones own choice words and fancies|
In orange tubs, and beds of pansies;
Ones sighs and passionate declarations,
In odorous rhetoric of carnations.
Leigh HuntLove-Letters Made of Flowers.
|Roses, and pinks, and violets, to adorn|
The shrine of Flora in her early May.
KeatsDedication to Leigh Hunt.
| 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 trammelld fresh;
The vine of glossy sprout; the ivy mesh,
Shading its Ethiop berries.
KeatsEndymion. Bk. II. L. 413.
|Young playmates of the rose and daffodil,|
Be careful ere ye enter in, to fill
Your baskets high
With fennel green, and balm, and golden pines
Savory latter-mint, and columbines.
KeatsEndymion. Bk. IV. L. 575.
| * * * the rose|
Blendeth its odor with the violet,
KeatsEve of St. Agnes. St. 36.
| And O and O,|
The daisies blow,
And the primroses are wakend;
And the violets white
Sit in silver plight,
And the green buds as long as the spike end.
KeatsIn a Letter to Haydon.
|Underneath large blue-bells tented|
Where the daisies are rose-scented,
And the rose herself has got
Perfume which on earth is not.
KeatsOde. Bards of Passion and of Mirth.
|The loveliest flowers the closest cling to earth,|
And they first feel the sun: so violets blue;
So the soft star-like primrosedrenched in dew
The happiest of Springs happy, fragrant birth.
KebleMiscellaneous Poems. Spring Showers.
|Spake full well, in language quaint and olden,|
One who dwelleth by the castled Rhine,
When he called the flowers, so blue and golden,
Stars, that in the earths firmament do shine.
LongfellowFlowers. St. 1.
|Gorgeous flowerets in the sunlight shining,|
Blossoms flaunting in the eye of day,
Tremulous leaves, with soft and silver lining,
Buds that open only to decay.
LongfellowFlowers. St. 6.
|The flaming rose gloomed swarthy red;|
The borage gleams more blue;
And low white flowers, with starry head,
Glimmer the rich dusk through.
George MacDonaldSongs of the Summer Night. Pt. III.
|And I will make thee beds of roses,|
And a thousand fragrant posies.
MarloweThe Passionate Shepherd to his Love.
|Flowers of all hue, and without thorn the rose.|
MiltonParadise Lost. Bk. IV. L. 256.
|A wilderness of sweets.|
MiltonParadise Lost. Bk. V. L. 294.
|The bright consummate flower.|
MiltonParadise Lost. Bk. V. L. 481.
|And touched by her fair tendance, gladlier grew.|
MiltonParadise Lost. Bk. VIII. L. 47.
|* * * at shut of evening flowers.|
MiltonParadise Lost. Bk. IX. L. 278.
|The foxglove, with its stately bells|
Of purple, shall adorn thy dells;
The wallflower, on each rifted rock,
From liberal blossoms shall breathe down,
(Gold blossoms frecked with iron-brown,)
Its fragrance; while the hollyhock,
The pink, and the carnation vie
With lupin and with lavender,
To decorate the fading year;
And larkspurs, many-hued, shall drive
Gloom from the groves, where red leaves lie,
And Nature seems but half alive.
D. M. MoirThe Birth of the Flowers. St. 14.
|Anemones and seas of gold,|
And new-blown lilies of the river,
And those sweet flowrets that unfold
Their buds on Camaderas quiver.
MooreLalla Rookh. Light of the Harem.
|Yet, nonot words, for they|
But half can tell loves feeling;
Sweet flowers alone can say
What passion fears revealing:
A once bright roses witherd leaf,
A towring lily broken,
Oh, these may paint a grief
No words could eer have spoken.
MooreThe Language of Flowers.
|The Wreaths of brightest myrtle wove|
With brilliant tears of bliss among it,
And many a rose leaf culld by Love
To heal his lips when bees have stung it.
MooreThe Wreath and the Chain.
|Forget-me-not, and violets, heavenly blue,|
Spring, glittering with the cheerful drops like dew.
N. MüllerThe Paradise of Tears. Trans. by Bryant.
|A milkweed, and a buttercup, and cowslip, said sweet Mary,|
Are growing in my garden-plot, and this I call my dairy.
Peter NewellHer Dairy.
|Of what are you afraid, my child? inquired the kindly teacher.|
Oh, sir! the flowers, they are wild, replied the timid creature.
Peter NewellWild Flowers.
|I sometimes think that never blows so red|
The Rose as where some buried Cæsar bled;
That every Hyacinth the Garden wears
Dropt in her Lap from some once lovely Head.
Omar KhayyamRubaiyat. St. 19. FitzGeralds Trans.
|One thing is certain and the rest is lies;|
The Flower that once has blown for ever dies.
Omar KhayyamRubaiyat. St. 63. FitzGeralds Trans.
|He bore a simple wild-flower wreath:|
Narcissus, and the sweet brier rose;
Vervain, and flexile thyme, that breathe
Rich fragrance; modest heath, that glows
With purple bells; the amaranth bright,
That no decay, nor fading knows,
Like true loves holiest, rarest light;
And every purest flower, that blows
In that sweet time, which Love most blesses,
When spring on summers confines presses.
Thomas Love PeacockRhododaphne. Canto I. L. 107.
|In Eastern lands they talk in flowers,|
And they tell in a garland their loves and cares;
Each blossom that blooms in their garden bowers,
On its leaves a mystic language bears.
PercivalThe Language of Flowers.
|Here blushing Flora paints th enamelld ground.|
|Here eglantine embalmd the air,|
Hawthorne and hazel mingled there;
The primrose pale, and violet flower,
Found in each cliff a narrow bower;
Fox-glove and nightshade, side by side,
Emblems of punishment and pride,
Groupd their dark hues with every stain
The weather-beaten crags retain.
ScottThe Lady of the Lake. Canto I. St. 12.
| Thou shalt not lack|
The flower thats like thy face, pale primrose, nor
The azurd harebell, like thy veins.
Cymbeline. Act IV. Sc. 2. L. 220.
|These flowers are like the pleasures of the world.|
Cymbeline. Act IV. Sc. 2. L. 296.
|When daisies pied, and violets blue,|
And lady-smocks all silver-white,
And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue
Do paint the meadows with delight.
Loves Labours Lost. Act V. Sc. 2. L. 904.
|In emerald tufts, flowers purple, blue, and white;|
Lake sapphire, pearl and rich embroidery.
Merry Wives of Windsor. Act V. Sc. 5. L. 74.
|I know a bank, where the wild thyme blows|
Where ox-lips, and the nodding violet grows;
Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine,
With sweet musk-roses, and with eglantine.
Midsummer Nights Dream. Act II. Sc. 1. L. 251. Changed by Steevens to whereon the wild thyme blows, and luscious woodbine to lush woodbine.
|To strew thy green with flowers; the yellows, blues,|
The purple violets, and marigolds.
Pericles. Act IV. Sc. 1. L. 15.
| The fairest flowers o the season|
Are our carnations and streakd gillyvors.
Winters Tale. Act IV. Sc. 4. L. 81.
|There grew pied wind-flowers and violets,|
Daisies, those pearled Arcturi of the earth,
The constellated flower that never sets.
|Day stars! that ope your frownless eyes to twinkle|
From rainbow galaxies of earths creation,
And dew-drops on her lonely altars sprinkle
As a libation.
Horace SmithHymn to the Flowers.
|Ye bright Mosaics! that with storied beauty,|
The floor of Natures temple tesselate,
What numerous emblems of instructive duty
Your forms create!
Horace SmithHymn to the Flowers.
|Sweet is the rose, but grows upon a brere;|
Sweet is the juniper, but sharp his bough;
Sweet is the eglantine, but sticketh nere;
Sweet is the firbloome, but its braunches rough;
Sweet is the cypress, but its rynd is tough;
Sweet is the nut, but bitter is his pill;
Sweet is the broome-flowre, but yet sowre enough;
And sweet is moly, but his root is ill.
SpenserAmoretti. Sonnet XXVI.
| Roses red and violets blew,|
And all the sweetest flowres that in the forrest grew.
SpenserFaerie Queene. Bk. III. Canto VI. St. 6.
|The violets ope their purple heads;|
The roses blow, the cowslip springs.
SwiftAnswer to a Scandalous Poem. L. 150.
|Primrose-eyes each morning ope|
In their cool, deep beds of grass;
Violets make the air that pass
Tell-tales of their fragrant slope.
Bayard TaylorHome and Travel. Ariel in the Cloven Pine. L. 57.
|The aquilegia sprinkled on the rocks|
A scarlet rain; the yellow violet
Sat in the chariot of its leaves; the phlox
Held spikes of purple flame in meadows wet,
And all the streams with vernal-scented reed
Were fringed, and streaky bells of miskodeed.
Bayard TaylorHome and Travel. Mon-Da-Min. St. 17.
|With roses musky-breathed,|
And drooping daffodilly,
And silver-leaved lily.
And ivy darkly-wreathed,
I wove a crown before her,
For her I love so dearly.
|The gold-eyed kingcups fine,|
The frail bluebell peereth over
Rare broidery of the purple clover.
TennysonA Dirge. St. 6.
|Here are cool mosses deep,|
And thro the moss the ivies creep,
And in the stream the long-leaved flowers weep,
And from the craggy ledge the poppy hangs in sleep.
TennysonThe Lotos-Eaters. Choric Song. Pt. I.
|The slender acacia would not shake|
One long milk-bloom on the tree;
The white lake-blossom fell into the lake
As the pimpernel dozed on the lea;
But the rose was awake all night for your sake,
Knowing your promise to me;
The lilies and roses were all awake,
They sighed for the dawn and thee.
TennysonMaud. Pt. XXII. St. 8.
|The daisy, primrose, violet darkly blue;|
And polyanthus of unnumbered dyes.
ThomsonThe Seasons. Spring. L. 529.
|Along the rivers summer walk,|
The withered tufts of asters nod;
And trembles on its arid stalk
The hoar plume of the golden-rod.
And on a ground of sombre fir,
And azure-studded juniper,
The silver birch its buds of purple shows,
And scarlet berries tell where bloomed the sweet wild-rose!
WhittierThe Last Walk in Autumn.
|But when they had unloosed the linen band,|
Which swathed the Egyptians body,lo! was found,
Closed in the wasted hollow of her hand,
A little seed, which, sown in English ground,
Did wondrous snow of starry blossoms bear,
And spread rich odours through our springtide air.
Oscar WildeAthanasia. St. 2.
|The very flowers are sacred to the poor.|
|To me the meanest flower that blows can give|
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.
WordsworthIntimations of Immortality.
|And tis my faith that every flower|
Enjoys the air it breathes.
WordsworthLines Written in Early Spring.
|The flower of sweetest smell is shy and lowly.|
WordsworthSonnet. Not Love, Not War, Nor, etc.
|Hope smiled when your nativity was cast,|
Children of Summer!
WordsworthStaffa Sonnets. Flowers on the Top of the Pillars at the Entrance of the Cave.
|The mysteries that cups of flowers infold|
And all the gorgeous sights which fairies do behold.
WordsworthStanzas written in Thomsons Castle of Indolence.
|There bloomed the strawberry of the wilderness;|
The trembling eyebright showed her sapphire blue,
The thyme her purple, like the blush of Even;
And if the breath of some to no caress
Invited, forth they peeped so fair to view,
All kinds alike seemed favourites of Heaven.
WordsworthThe River Duddon. Flowers. VI.
|Pansies, lilies, kingcups, daisies,|
Let them live upon their praises.
WordsworthTo the Small Celandine.