Then come the aunts with the reviving hose.— But poets have this simile employed, And men for scores of centuries enjoyed,— Yet hardly one its secret sense has hit; For flowers are manifold and infinite. Say, then, what flower is love? Name me, who knows, The flower most like it? MISS JAY. Why, it is the rose; Good gracious, that’s exceedingly well known;— Love, all agree, lends life a rosy tone. A YOUNG LADY. It is the snowdrop; growing, snow enfurled; Till it peer forth, undreamt of by the world. AN AUNT. It is the dandelion,—made robust By dint of human heel and horse hoof thrust; Nay, shooting forth afresh when it is smitten, As Pedersen so charmingly has written. LIND. It is the bluebell,—ringing in for all Young hearts life’s joyous Whitsun festival. MRS. HALM. No, ’tis an evergreen,—as fresh and gay In desolate December as in May. GULDSTAD. No, Iceland moss, dry gathered,—far the best Cure for young ladies with a wounded breast. A GENTLEMAN. No, the wild chestnut tree,—in high repute For household fuel, but with a bitter fruit. SVANHILD. No, a camellia; at our balls, ’tis said, The chief adornment of a lady’s head. MRS. STRAWMAN. No, it is like a flower, O such a bright one;— Stay now—a blue one, no, it was a white one— What is its name—? Dear me—the one I met—; Well it is singular how I forget! STIVER. None of these flower similitudes will run. The flowerpot is a likelier candidate. There’s only room in it, at once, for _one_; But by progressive stages it holds _eight_. STRAWMAN [_with his little girls round him_]. No, love’s a pear tree; in the spring like snow With myriad blossoms, which in summer grow To pearlets; in the parent’s sap each shares;— And with God’s help they’ll all alike prove pears. FALK. So many heads, so many sentences! No, you all grope and blunder off the line. Each simile’s at fault; I’ll tell you mine;— You’re free to turn and wrest it as you please. [_Rises as if to make a speech._ In the remotest east there grows a plant; And the sun’s cousin’s garden is its haunt— THE LADIES. Ah, it’s the tea-plant! FALK.