Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS, by MARIA ABDY

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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS, by             Poet's Biography
First Line: The mystic science is not mine
Last Line: To commune with the flowers.
Alternate Author Name(s): Smith, Maria; Abdy, Mira; M. A.
Subject(s): Flowers

The mystic science is not mine
That Eastern records teach;
I cannot to each bud assign
A sentiment and speech;
Yet, when in yonder blossom'd dell
I pass my lonely hours,
Methinks my heart interprets well
The eloquence of flowers.

Of life's first thoughtless years they tell,
When half my joy and grief
Dwelt in a lily's opening bell,
A rosebud's drooping leaf --
I watched for them the sun's bright rays,
And feared the driving showers,
Types of my girlhood's radiant days
Were ye, sweet transient flowers.

And sadder scenes ye bring to mind,
The moments ye renew
When first the woodbine's wreaths I twined,
A loved one's grave to strew;
On the cold turf I weeping spread
My offering from the bowers,
Ye seemed meet tribute to the dead,
Pale, perishable flowers.

Yet speak ye not alone, fair band,
Of changefulness and gloom,
Ye tell me of God's gracious hand,
That clothes you thus in bloom,
And sends to soften and to calm
A sinful world like ours,
Gifts of such purity and balm
As ye, fresh dewy flowers.

And while your smiling ranks I view,
In vivid colours drest,
My heart, with faith confirmed and true,
Learns on the Lord to rest:
If He the lilies of the field
With lavish glory dowers,
Will he not greater bounties yield
To me, than to the flowers?

Still, still they speak -- around my track
Some faded blossoms lie,
Another spring shall bring them back,
Yet bring them, but to die:
But we forsake this world of strife,
To rise to nobler powers,
And share those gifts of endless life,
Withheld from earth's frail flowers.

O may I bear your lessons hence,
Fair children of the sod,
Yours is the calm mute eloquence,
That leads the thoughts to God:
And oft amid the great and wise,
My heart shall seek these bowers,
And turn from man's proud colloquies,
To commune with the flowers.

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