The Angel of the Flowers one day, Beneath a Rose-tree sleeping lay, That spirit to whose charge is given To bathe young buds in dews from heaven. Awaking from his light repose, The angel whispered to the Rose, “O fondest object of my care, Still fairest found where all are fair, For the sweet shade thou hast given to me, Ask what thou wilt, ’tis granted thee.” Then said the Rose, with deepening glow, “On me another grace bestow.” The spirit paused in silent thought-- What grace was there that flower had not? ’Twas but a moment--o’er the Rose A veil of moss the angel throws; And, robed in nature’s simplest weed, Could there a flower that Rose exceed? _Anon._ * * * * * They gather gems with sunbeams bright, From floating clouds and falling showers; They rob Aurora’s locks of light, To grace their own fair queen of flowers. Thus, thus adorned, the speaking rose Becomes a _token_ fit to tell Of things that words can ne’er disclose, And naught but this reveal so well. Then take my flower, and let its leaves Beside thy heart be cherished near, While that confiding heart receives The thought it whispers to thine ear. _Token, 1830._ WHITE WATER-LILY.... _Purity_. The White Water-Lily is the Queen of the Waves, and reigns sole sovereign over the streams; and it was a species of Water-Lily which the old Egyptians and ancient Indians worshipped--the most beautiful object that was held sacred in their superstitious creed, and one which we cannot look upon even now without feeling a delight mingled with reverence. No flower looks more lovely than this “Lady of the Lake,” resting her crowned head on a green throne of velvet, and looking down into the depths of her own sky-reflecting realms, watching the dance, as her attendant water-nymphs keep time to the rocking of the ripples, and the dreamy swaying of the trailing water streams. _Miller._ * * * * * Thine is a face to look upon and pray That a pure spirit keep thee--I would meet With one so gentle by the streams away, Living with nature; keeping thy pure feet For the unfingered moss, and for the grass Which leaneth where the gentle waters pass. The autumn leaves should sigh thee to thy sleep; And the capricious April, coming on, Awake thee like a flower; and stars should keep A vigil o’er thee like Endymion; And thou for very gentleness shouldst weep As dews of the night’s quietness come down. _Willis._ * * * * *