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