The language of flowers : $b The floral offering ; a token of affection and esteem ; comprising the language and poetry of flowersDumont, Henrietta
General
The language of flowers : $b The floral offering ; a token of affection and esteem ; comprising the language and poetry of flowers
Dumont, Henrietta
Flower language; Flowers in literature
In Greece the altar of Hymen was enwreathed with Ivy, and a branch of it
was presented to the new-married couple, as a symbol of the indissoluble
knot. It was sacred to Bacchus, who is represented crowned with Ivy
leaves, as well as those of the vine. It formed the crown of the Greek
and Roman poets; and, in modern times, has been made the poet’s frequent
image of constancy. The Ivy is attached to the earth by its own roots,
and derives no nourishment from the substances to which it clings. The
protector of ruins, it adorns the dilapidated walls which it holds
together; it will not accept every kind of support, but its attachment
ends only with its life.
* * * * *
When all things have their trial, you shall find
Nothing is constant but a virtuous mind.
_Shirley._
* * * * *
The mountain rill
Seeks with no surer flow the far, bright sea,
Than my unchanged affections flow to thee.
_Park Benjamin._
* * * * *
I am constant as the northern star;
Of whose true, fixed, and resting quality
There is no fellow in the firmament.
_Shakspeare._
* * * * *
Make my breast
Transparent as pure crystal, that the world,
Jealous of me, may see the foulest thought
My heart does hold. Where shall a woman turn
Her eyes to find out constancy?
_Buckingham._
* * * * *
No, never from this hour to part,
We’ll live and love so true,
The sigh that rends thy constant heart,
Shall break thy Edwin’s too.
_Goldsmith._
* * * * *
The Ivy round some lofty pile
Its twining tendril flings;
Though fled from thence be pleasure’s smile,
It yet the fonder clings;
As lonelier still becomes the place,
The warmer is its fond embrace,
More firm its verdant rings;
As if it loved its shade to rear
O’er one devoted to despair.
Thus shall my bosom cling to thine,
Unchanged by gliding years;
Through Fortune’s rise, or her decline,
In sunshine, or in tears;
And though between us oceans roll,
And rocks divide us, still my soul
Shall feel no jealous fears:
Confiding in a heart like thine,
Love’s uncontaminated shrine.
_Mrs. Hale._
HOLLY.... _Foresight_.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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