The Floral Fortune-teller/Yellow Flowers

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PART IV.



YELLOW FLOWERS.

Describing the Scene of your Future Life.

BUTTERCUP.



In a narrow sphere—
The little circle of domestic life.

Southey.



In the dissolute city.

Wordsworth.



CINQUEFOIL.



A cot beside the hill;
A beehive hum shall soothe the ear,
A willowy brook that turns a mill,
With many a fall shall linger near.

Rogers.



Fair is the spot, most beautiful the vale;
————The grassy churchyard hangs
Upon a slope above the village school.

Wordsworth.




COREOPSIS.



The lovely cottage in the guardian nook,
————With its own clear brook,
Its own small pasture, almost its own sky!

Wordsworth.



Far remote
From such unpleasing sounds as haunt the ear
In village or in town; the bay of curs
Incessant, clinking hammers, grinding wheels,
And infants clamorous, whether pleased or pained.

Cowper.


CHRYSANTHEMUM.



Beneath the shade
Of solemn oaks that tuft the swelling mounds,
Thrown graceful round by Nature’s careless hand.

Thomson.



Where wealth and commerce lift their golden heads.

Thomson.




DANDELION.



A mansion remote
From the clatter of street-pawing steeds.

Cowper.



In the open fields———
And on the mountains.

Wordsworth.



GOLDEN ROD



A single small cottage—a nest like a dove’s.

Wordsworth.



A dale
With woods o’erhung, and shagged with mossy rocks,
Whence on each hand the gushing waters play,
And down the rough cascade white dashing fall,
Or gleam in lengthened vista thro’ the trees.

Thomson.



HIBISCUS.



An old deserted mansion.

Hood.



Your own hands have built a home,
Even for yourself, on a beloved shore.

Shelley.



JASMINE.



A cottage far retired
Among the woody windings of a vale,
By solitude and deep surrounding shades,
But more by bashful modesty, concealed.

Thomson.



Where palaces and fanes and villas rise,
And gardens smile around and cultured fields,
And fountains gush; and careless herds and flocks
Serenely stray; a world within itself,
Disdaining all assault.

Thomson.



JOHN’S WORT.



Dear is thy little native vale;
The ring-dove builds and murmurs there;
Close by thy cot she tells her tale
To every passing villager.
The squirrel leaps from tree to tree,
And shells his nuts at liberty.

Rogers.



Mountains, and vales, and waters, all infused
With beauty, and in quietness.

Southey.



JONQUIL.



A cottage,
Perched upon the green hill-top, but close
Environed with a ring of branching elms,
That overhang the thatch; itself unseen,
Peeps at the vale below.

Cowper.



In some lone cot amid the distant woods,
Sustained alone by providential Heaven.

Thomson.



LILY.



Knowst thou the house? On pillars rests the roof.

Goethe.



The same house where thy father dwelt.

Coleridge.



LABURNUM.



A pleasant city.

Byron.



A circular vale, and land-locked, as might seem,
With brook and bridge, and gray stone cottages
Half hid by rocks and fruit-trees.

Coleridge.



LOOSE STRIFE.



On either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
And through the field the road runs by.

Tennyson.



Remote, unnamed, dull spot,
The dimmest in the district's map.

Byron.



MARIGOLD.



A green and silent spot amid the hills,
A small and silent dell! O’er stiller place
No sinking skylark ever poised himself.

Coleridge.



—Cottage on a plot of ground,
—With large prospect, north and south.

Wordsworth.




MIGNONETTE.



That cottage half embowered
With modest jessamine, and that sweet spot
Of garden ground, when ranged in meet array,
Grow countless sweets—the wall-flower and the pink,
And the thick thyme-bush.

Kirk White.



In proud, and gay,
And gain-devoted cities.

Cowper.



NASTURTION.



In a pleasant glade
With mountains round about environed,
And mighty woods;
And in the midst, a little river.

Spenser.



Where merchants most do congregate.

Shakspeare.



PRIMROSE.



In the deep umbrage of a green hill’s shade,
Which shows a distant prospect far away
Of busy cities.

Byron.



Woods, rocks, waves surround it.

Shelley.



SAFFRON.



A little lowly hermitage . . .
Down in a dale, hard by a forest’s side,
Far from resort of people.

Spenser.




Ships, and waves, and ceaseless motion.

Coleridge.



SUNFLOWER.



An old place, full of many a lovely brood,
Tall trees, green arbors, and ground-flowers in flocks.

Wordsworth.




Midst the crowd, the hum, the shock of men.

Byron.



TRUMPET FLOWER.



A fountain, large and fair,
A willow, and a ruined hut.



In lands beyond the sea.

Wordsworth.



VIOLET.



A lonely dwelling, where the shore
Is shadowed with rocks.

Shelley.



In forest, copse, and wooded park,
And mid the city’s strife.

Hood.



WALL-FLOWER.



———A little lawny islet.
By anemone and violet,
Like mosaic, paven.

Shelley.



An uninhabited sea-side,
Which the lone fisher, when his nets are dried,
Abandons.

Shelley.



WILLOW.



Where quiet sounds from hidden rills,
Float here and there, like things astray;
And high o’erhead the skylark shrills.

Coleridge.



In the stir and turmoil of the world.

Coleridge.



WATER-LILY.



A realm of pleasance, many a mound,
And many a shadow-chequered lawn
Full of the city’s stilly sound.

Tennyson.



A broad canal
From the main river sluiced, where all
The sloping of the moonlit sward
Is damask work, and deep inlay
Of braided blooms unmown, which creep
Adown to where the waters sleep;
A goodly place!

Tennyson.