LAVENDER....Distrust. It was anciently believed that the asp, a dangerous species of viper, made Lavender its habitual place of abode, for which reason that plant was approached with extreme caution. The Romans used it largely in their baths, from whence its name is derived. Our doubts are traitors, And make us lose the good we oft might win, Shakspeare. Who never doubted never half believed, Where doubt there truth is 'tis her shadow. Bailey. When first, with all a lover's pride, Thy confidence is held from me, In fear my love but shows, Like one, art thou, who fears the bee May sting thee, through the rose. Anon. Anon. PANSY.... Think of me. The Pansy, or Heart's-ease, is a beautiful variety of the Violet, differing from it in the diversity of its colours. In fragrance it is inferior to the Violet. Pansy is an old English corruption of the French Pensée. And there are Pansies, that's for thoughts." CHILDHOOD. Sister, arise, the sun shines bright, Shakspeare. The bee is humming in the air, Blue is the sky, no rain to-day: Get up, it has been light for hours, Nor have we gathered any flowers. Time, who looked on, each accent caught, YOUTH. To-night, beside the garden-gate? Oh, what a while the night is coming! No heard the bee at this time humming! I thought the flowers an hour ago Had closed their bells and sunk to rest: How light it is along the west! That I oft move too quick for thought." MANHOOD. What thoughts wouldst thou in me awaken? I know too much from what is past, And troubles ever come too fast. OLD AGE. Somehow the flowers seem different now, The Hawthorn buds look gray and cold; When I was young—when I was young! There's not that blue about the sky Which every way in those days hung. There's nothing now looks as it "ought." Said Time, "The change is in thy thought." I think of thee at morn, when glisten I think of thee at eve, and listen, When the low, whispering breezes pass. Miller. E. R. H. And thou, so rich in gentle names, appealing Daisy....Innocence. Shakspeare speaks of the Daisy as the flower and succeeding poets have generally used it as the image of that pure quality. Fable informs us that the Daisy owes its origin to Belides, one of the Dryads, who were supposed to preside over meadows and pastures. While dancing on the turf with Ephigeus, whose suit she encouraged, she attracted the admiration of Vertumnus, the deity who presided over orchards; and, to escape from him, she was transformed into the humble flower, the Latin name of which is Bellis. The ancient English name of the flower was Day's Eye, of which Daisy is a corruption. In Ossian's poems, the Daisy is called the flower of the new-born—most expressive of innocence. When smitten by the morning ray, And when, at dark, by dews opprest, Hath often eased my pensive breast Wordsworth. She dwells amid the world's dark ways, Pure as in childhood's hours; And all her thoughts are poetry, And all her words are flowers. Mrs. M. E. Hewitt. 'Twas when the world was in its prime, While lovers sang each other's praises, Or on some bank white o'er with Daisies: While Love went by with muffled feet, Singing, "The Daisies they are sweet." Unfettered then he roamed abroad, And as he willed it past the hours— Now lingering idly by the road, Now loitering by the wayside flowers; For what cared he about the morrow? Too young to sigh, too old to fear— Who found the Daisies everywhere; Like a glad brook that turns away— |