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Perennial Strawberry-bloom,
Woodsorrel's pencilled veil,
Dishevel'd Willow-weed
And Orchis purple and pale.

ROBERT BRIDGESIdle Flowers.

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I have loved flowers that fade,
Within whose magic tents
Rich hues have marriage made
With sweet unmemoried scents.

ROBERT BRIDGES— Shorter Poems. Bk. II. 13.

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Mourn, little harebells, o'er the lea;
Ye stately foxgloves fair to see!
Ye woodbines, hanging bonnilie

In scented bowers!
Ye roses on your thorny tree

The first o' flow'rs. BURNSElegy on Capt. Matthew Henderson.

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Now blooms the lily by the bank,

The primrose down the brae;
The hawthorn's budding in the glen,

And milkwhite is the slae.

BURNS—Lament of Mary, Queen of Scots. The snowdrop and primrose our woodlands

adorn, And violets bathe in the wet o' the morn.

BURNS-My Nannie's Awa.

12 Rose, what is become of thy delicate hue? And where is the violet's beautiful blue? Does aught of its sweetness the blossom beguile? That meadow, those daisies, why do they not

smile? JOHN BYROM-A Pastoral. St. 8.

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. BROWNING—Hector in the Garden.

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Ah, ah, Cytherea! Adonis is dead.
She wept tear after tear, with the blood which

was shed, And both turned into flowers for the earth's

garden-close; Her tears, to the wind-flower,-his blood, to the

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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 teem'd around me with fairy

delight, And when daisies and buttercups gladden'd my

sight, Like treasures of silver and gold. CAMPBELL Field Flowers.

14 The berries of the brier rose

Have lost their rounded pride:
The bitter-sweet chrysanthemums

Are drooping heavy-eyed.
ALICE CARYFaded Leaves.

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I know not which I love the most,

Nor which the comeliest shows, The timid, bashful violet

Or the royal-hearted rose:

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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 CARY—Spring Flowers.

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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 COOLIDGE-Time to Go.

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Where fall the tears of love the rose appears, And where the ground is bright with friendship's

tears, Forget-me-not, and violets, heavenly blue, Spring glittering with the cheerful drops like dew. BRYANT_Trans. of N. MÜLLER's Paradise of

Tears. 8 Who that has loved knows not the tender tale Which flowers reveal, when lips are coy to tell? BULWER-LYTTON-Corn Flowers. The First

Violets. Bk. I. St. 1.

Not a flower But shows some touch, in freckle, streak or stain, Of his unrivall’d pencil.

COWPERThe Task. Bk. VI. L. 241.

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grass, like sparks that have leaped from the And all the meadows, wide unrolled,

kindling sun of summer. Were green and silver, green and gold,

HOLMES—The Professor at the BreakfastWhere buttercups and daisies spun

Table. X.
Their shining tissues in the sun.
JULIA C. R. DORR-Unanswered.

I remember, I remember

The roses, red and white, The harebells nod as she passes by,

The violets, and the lily-cups, The violet lifts its tender eye,

Those flowers made of light! The ferns bend her steps to greet,

The lilacs, where the robin built, And the mosses creep to her

dancing feet.

And where my brother set JULIA C. R. DORR- Over the Wall.

The laburnum on his birthday,–

The tree is living yet. Up from the gardens floated the perfume

HOOD—I Remember, I Remember. of roses and myrtle, in their perfect bloom.

14 JULIA C. R. DORR—Vashti's Scroll. L. 91. I may not to the world impart

The secret of its power, The rose is fragrant, but it fades in time:

But treasured in my inmost heart The violet sweet, but quickly past the prime:

I keep my faded flower.

ELLEN C. HOWARTH'Tis but a Little Faded White lilies hang their heads, and soon decay,

Flower. And white snow in minutes melts away.

15 DRYDEN—Trans. from Theocritus. The De

'Tis but a little faded flower, spairing Lover. L. 57.

But oh, how fondly dear! 5

'Twill bring me back one golden hour, The flowers of the forest are a' wede away.

Through many a weary year.
JANE ELLIOTTThe Flowers of the Forest. ELLEN C. HOWARTH-'Tis but a Little Faded

Flower.
Why does the rose her grateful fragrance yield,
And yellow cowslips paint the smiling field?

Growing one's own choice words and fancies GAY—Panthea. L. 71.

In orange tubs, and beds of pansies;

One's sighs and passionate declarations, They speak of hope to the fainting heart,

In odorous rhetoric of carnations. With a voice of promise they come and part, LEIGH HUNT-Love-Letters Made of Flowers. They sleep in dust through the wintry hours, They break forth in glory—bring flowers, bright Roses, and pinks, and violets, to adorn flowers!

The shrine of Flora in her early May, FELICIA D. HEMANS—Bring Flowers.

KEATS—Dedication to Leigh Hunt. Through the laburnum's dropping gold

Above his head Rose the light shaft of orient mould,

Four lily stalks did their white honours wed And Europe's violets, faintly sweet,

To make a coronal; and round him grew Purpled the moss-beds at its feet.

All tendrils green, of every bloom and hue, FELICIA D. HEMANS-Palm-Tree.

Together intertwined and trammell'd fresh;

The vine of glossy sprout; the ivy mesh, Faire pledges of a fruitful tree

Shading its Éthiop berries.
Why do yee fall so fast?

KEATSEndymion. Bk. II. L. 413.
Your date is not so past
But you may stay yet here awhile

Young playmates of the rose and daffodil,
To blush and gently smile

Be careful ere ye enter in, to fill And go at last.

Your baskets high HERRICKTo Blossoms.

With fennel green, and balm, and golden pines

Savory latter-mint, and columbines.
The daisy is fair, the day-lily rare,

KEATS-Endymion. Bk. IV. L. 575.
The bud o' the rose as sweet as it's bonnie.
HOGG Auld Joe Nicolson's Nannie.

Blendeth its odor with the violet,

Solution sweet.
What are the flowers of Scotland,

KEATSEve of St. Agnes. St. 36.
All others that excel?
The lovely flowers of Scotland,

And O and O,
All others that excel!

The daisies blow, The thistle's purple bonnet,

And the primroses are waken'd; And bonny heather bell,

And the violets white Oh, they're the flowers of Scotland.

Sit in silver plight, All others that excel!

And the green bud's as long as the spike end. HogyThe Flowers of Scotland.

KEATS-In a Letter to Haydon.

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* the rose

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Yellow japanned buttercups and star-disked dandelions, -just as we see them lying in the

Underneath large blue-bells tented
Where the daisies are rose-scented,

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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.

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 love's holiest, rarest light;

And every purest flower, that blows
In that sweet time, which Love most blesses,

When spring on summer's confines presses.
THOMAS LOVE PEACOCK-Rhododaphne. Can-

to I. L. 107.

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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.

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Here blushing Flora paints th' enamell’d ground.

POPE-Windsor Forest.

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The silver birch its buds of purple shows,
And scarlet berries tell where bloomed the sweet

wild-rose!
WHITTIER—The Last Walk in Autumn.

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But when they had unloosed the linen band, Which swathed the Egyptian's 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 WILDE-Athanasia. St. 2.
The very flowers are sacred to the poor.

WORDSWORTH-Admonition.

FLY We see spiders, flies, or ants entombed and pre served forever in amber, a more than royal tomb. BACONHistoria Vitæ et Mortis.

(Same idea under ANT, BEE) It was prettily devised of Æsop: The fly sat upon the axle-tree of the chariot-wheel, and said, What a dust do I raise! BACON-Of Vain-Glory, attributed to ÆSOP

but found in Fables of LAURENTIUS ABSTEMIUS.

(See also LA FONTAINE) We see how flies, and spiders, and the like, get a sepulchre in amber, more durable than the monument and embalming of the body of any king. BACON-Sylvia Sylvarum. Century I. Experiment 100.

(Same idea under ANT, BEE)

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To me the meanest flower that blows can give
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.

WORDSWORTH-Intimations of Immortality.
And 'tis my faith that every flower
Enjoys the air it breathes.

WORDSWORTH-Lines Written in Early Spring. The flower of sweetest smell is shy and lowly. WORDSWORTH-Sonnet. Not Love, Not War,

Nor, etc.

Haceos miel, y paparos han moscas.

Make yourself honey and the flies will devour you.

CERVANTES—Don Quixote. II. 43.

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Hope smiled when your nativity was cast,
Children of Summer!
WORDSWORTH—Staffa 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 be-

hold. WORDSWORTH-Stanzas written in Thomson's

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 Driddon. Flowers.

VI.

The fly that sips treacle is lost in the sweets.
Gay-The Beggar's Opera. Act. II. Sc. 2.

L. 35,
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To a boiling pot flies come not.

HERBERT-Jacula Prudentum.

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I saw a flie within a beade
Of amber cleanly buried.
HERRICKThe Amber Bead.

(See also BACON) 20

The Lord shall hiss for the fly that is in the uttermost part of the rivers of Egypt.

Isaiah. VII. 18.

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A fly sat on the chariot wheel
And said "what a dust I raise."
LA FONTAINE-Fables. Bk. VII. 9. PHE-
DRUS. III. 6. Musca et Mula.

(See also BACON)

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Busy, curious, thirsty fly,
Drink with me and drink as I!
Freely welcome to my cup,
Could'st thou sip and sip it up;
Make the most of life you may;
Life is short and wears away.

WILLIAM OLDYS—The Fly.

23 Oh! that the memories which survive us here Were half so lovely as these wings of thine! Pure relics of a blameless life, that shine Now thou art gone. CHARLES (TENNYSON) TURNER- On Finding a

Small Fly Crushed in a Book.

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O flower-de-luce, bloom on, and let the river

Linger to kiss thy feet!
O flower of song, bloom on, and make forever

The world more fair and sweet.
LONGFELLOW-Flower-de-Luce. St. 8.

Lilies of all kinds,
The flower-de-luce being one!

Winter's Tale. Act IV. Sc. 4. L. 126.

Baby bye
Here's a fly,
Let us watch him, you and I,

How he crawls
Up the walls

Yet he never falls.
THEODORE TILTONBaby Bye.

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