Page:Poems Osgood.djvu/128

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"It is softer than warble of fairy or bird !
 'Tis the music of soul—the sweet language of flowers!"

No longer the lover impassion'd bestows
 The pearl or the ruby;—in Hope's sunny hours
lie twines for his maiden a myrtle and rose—
 'Tis the echo of Love, the pure language of flowers.

But the pearl and the ruby are sadly dismay'd;
 I saw a fair girl lay them lightly aside,
And blushingly wreathe, in her hair's simple braid,
 The white orange flower that betray'd her a bride;

And I fancied I heard the poor jewels bewail,
 At least they changed countenance strangely, I'm sure;
For the pearl blush'd with shame, and the ruby turn'd pale:—
 Indeed 'twas too much for a stone to endure.

And I, who had ever a passion for gems,
 From the diamond's star-smile to the ruby's deep flame;