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The language of flowers

Yellow Rose.... Jealousy.

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Pfeffel, a German poet, has pleasingly accounted for the origin of the Yellow Rose, the emblem of envy and jealousy, in the following manner:

Once a White Rose-bud reared her head, And peevishly to Flora said, “Look at my sister’s blushing hue— Pray, mother, let me have it too.” “Nay, child,” was Flora’s mild reply, “Be thankful for such gifts as I Have deemed befitting to dispense— Thy dower the hue of innocence.” When did Persuasion’s voice impart Content and peace to female heart Where baleful Jealousy bears sway, And scares each gentler guest away? The Rose still grumbled and complained, Her mother’s bounties still disdained. “Well, then,” said angered Flora—“take”— She breathed upon her as she spake— “Henceforth no more in simple vest Of innocence shalt thou be drest— Take that which better suits thy mind, The hue for Jealousy designed!” The Yellow Rose has from that hour Borne evidence of Envy’s power. Is whispering nothing? Is leaning cheek to cheek?—is meeting noses? Kissing with inside lip?—stopping the career Of laughter with a sigh?—(a note infallible Of breaking honesty:)—horsing foot to foot?— Skulking in corners?—wishing clocks more swift?— Hours, minutes?—noon, midnight? and all eyes Blind with the pin and web, but theirs,—theirs only, That would unseen be wicked?—is this nothing? Why, then the world, and all that’s in it, is nothing. Shakspeare.

Thou wondrous yellow fiend! Temper an antidote with antimony, And ’tis infectious: Mix jealousy with marriage, It poisons virtue. Davenport.

O jealousy! thou bane of pleasing friendship, Thou worst invader of our tender bosoms; How does thy rancour poison all our softness, And turn our gentle natures into bitterness! Rowe.

Ah! poor unconscious rival maid, How drearily must thou sicken and fade, ’Neath jealousy’s dark Upas shade! Tupper.

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