08.07.2007, 10:29
Flowers Love’s Truest Language
Flowers are Love’s truest language; they betray,
Like the divining-rods of Magi old,
Where precious wealth lies buried, not of gold,
But love, - strong love, that never can decay!
I send thee flowers, O dearest! and I deem
That from their petals thou wilt hear sweet words,
Wose music, clearer than the voice of birds,
When breathed to thee alone, perchance, may seem
All eloquent of feelings unexpressed.
O, wreathe them in those tresses of dark hair!
Let them repose upon thy forehead fair,
And on thy bosom’s yielding snow be pressed!
Thus shall thy fondness for my flowers reval
The love that maiden coyness would conceal!
Flowers are Love’s truest language; they betray,
Like the divining-rods of Magi old,
Where precious wealth lies buried, not of gold,
But love, - strong love, that never can decay!
I send thee flowers, O dearest! and I deem
That from their petals thou wilt hear sweet words,
Wose music, clearer than the voice of birds,
When breathed to thee alone, perchance, may seem
All eloquent of feelings unexpressed.
O, wreathe them in those tresses of dark hair!
Let them repose upon thy forehead fair,
And on thy bosom’s yielding snow be pressed!
Thus shall thy fondness for my flowers reval
The love that maiden coyness would conceal!