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.
Words extracted from Language of Flowers, 1865, by Thomas Miller
As he lay down amongst the roses, he felt the dropping petals falling upon his lips and around his neck, as if to catch the tears that fell; and then it was that Love first kissed the Rose.
And whilst folded upon his lips, she told him that ages ago Jove selected her for Queen of the Flowers and the Goddess of Beauty; that nothing human had ever surpassed her charms; that from the first creation of flowers, she had been named "the ornament of the earth, the princess of plants, the blush of beauty, the breath of love;" and that even when her leaves withered, to mark her immortal origin, she gave not up her breath, but still lived in a spirit of invisible fragrance that never knew old age, but sank to sleep in perfume, in the full perfection of her beauty, for she was the fairest daughter that was born of the Mother of Love.