language of flowers . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . {part 4}

continued from here...or from the beginning

So Love found his sweet and long lost sister in the Rose, and first she spoke to him in the old language of the flowers, giving him a new lesson every day, until not a bell bowed or a bud expanded, nor a blossom opened its beautiful lips, without Love knowing every word it whispered.

For days Love did linger with his sweet sister the Rose, before he again set out on his pilgrimage;

but his journey was now no longer lonely; he found a companion in every flower by the wayside, and held converse with every bud that dwelt within its green homestead of leaves.

 

The End. 

Words extracted from Language of Flowers, 1865, by Thomas Miller

Comments

[camilla]

I think I just stopped breathing for a minute.
Stunning!

[Neuroknitter]

I loved how you serialized this story, and each post had the most amazing series of images. Just lovely...imagery and text!!

Our yellow roses are finally budding out, and even showing a bit of color...I want to say they're Graham Thomas...

Thank you for all this beauty!! :)

[Candace]

That is just beautiful. I've been thinking of doing a little photo novella and you just did it! Your photos are excellent.