LINES SENT WITH A BOUQUET.

I. I’ve read in legends old of men Who hung up fruits and flowers Before the altar-shrines of those They called Superior Powers: It was, I think, a blessed thought That things so pure and sweet Should be esteemed an offering For gods and angels meet. II. I imitate that charming rite In this our sober day, And, when I worship, strew sweet flowers Along my angel’s way: And, if my heart’s fond prayer be heard, The offering I renew; For flowers like books have leaves that speak, And thoughts of every hue. III. They are Love’s paper, pictured o’er With gentle hopes and fears; Their blushes are the smiles of Love, And their soft dew his tears! Ah! more than poet’s pen can write Or poet’s tongue reveal Is hidden by their folded buds And by their rosy seal. IV. Mute letters! yet how eloquent! Expressive silence dwells In every blossom Heaven creates, Like sound in ocean shells. Press to my flowers thy lips, beloved, And then thy heart will see Inscribed upon their leaves the words I dare not breathe to thee!