The language of flowers — Story, Setting & Ideas

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In Category - Plants Flowers

Authors: Dumont, Henrietta Digital Source: Project Gutenberg Gutenberg Release Year: 2023 First Publication Year: Not confirmed

Key Word: Flower language; Flowers in literature Target Reader: Readers of public-domain and historical texts

Book Edition: Project Gutenberg digital edition Book Language: en

Edition facts

Words 55,330

Reading time 241 min

Text sections 12

This digital edition of The language of flowers — Story, Setting & Ideas is described by source-level measurements including 55,330 words, 4 hr 1 min estimated reading time, and 12 detected text sections.

The text analysis averages about 20.1 words per sentence, while the detected sections provide another way to judge how the source is divided.

Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “Flower language,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.

Source: Project Gutenberg record #71779

An 1851 floral dictionary pairing over 200 flowers with symbolic meanings, each entry accompanied by poetry from Shakespeare, Byron, and others. The preface argues flowers have a natural language tied to human emotion, while the dictionary entries blend botanical description with literary quotations, revealing a 19th-century belief in nature's moral correspondence.

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File: pg71779

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f the Primrose-tufts in the grass beneath, Upon thy heart there is laid a spell, Holy and precious--oh, guard it well! Yes! when thy heart in its pride would stray From the first pure loves of its youth away; When the sullying breath of the world would come O’er the flowers it brought from its native home; Think thou again of the woody glade, Of the sound by the rustling ivy made; Think of the tree at thy father’s door, And the kindly spell shall have power once more.

ALMOND BLOSSOM. ... _Indiscretion._

The Almond tree is the first of the trees to put forth its blossoms, when spring breathes the breath of life through nature. It has been made the emblem of indiscretion, from flowering so early that frosts too often give a death-chill to the precocious germs of its fruit. In ancient times, the abundance of blossoms upon the Almond tree was considered to promise a fruitful season. The following is the fabulous account of the origin of this tree:--Demophoon, son of Theseus and Phædra, in returning from the siege of Troy, was thrown by a storm on the shores of Thrace, where then reigned the beautiful Phyllis. The young queen graciously received the prince, fell in love with him, and became his wife. When recalled to Athens by his father’s death, Demophoon promised to return in a month, and fixed the day. The loving Phyllis counted the hours of his absence, and, at last, the appointed day arrived. Nine times she repaired to the shore; but, losing all hope of his return, she died of grief, and was converted into an Almond tree. Soon afterwards, Demophoon returned. Overwhelmed with sorrow, he offered a sacrifice at the sea-side, to appease the manes of his bride. The Almond tree instantly put forth its blossoms, and seemed to sympathize with his repentance.

Oh! had I nursed when I was young The lessons of my father’s tongue, (The deep laborious thoughts he drew From all he saw, and others knew,) I might have been,--ah, me! Thrice sager than I e’er shall be. For what says Time? Alas! he only shows the truth Of all that I was told in youth.

The Crocus is one of the earliest of the spring flowers, and, therefore, a fit emblem of the spring of life. It is a small flower, of variegated hues; the principal being purple, yellow, and white. The _Crocus Vernus_, or Spring Crocus, is a wild flower now in various parts of England, though not considered to be really a native of the country. We learn from the favourite writers, Mr. and Mrs. Howitt, that they are plentiful about Nottingham, “gleaming at a distance like a perfect flood of lilac, and tempting very many little hearts, and many graver ones too, to go out and gather.”

Oh! many a glorious flower there grows In far and richer lands; But high in my affection e’er The beautiful Crocus stands. I love their faces, when by one And two they’re looking out; I love them when the spreading field Is purple all about. I loved them in the by-gone years Of childhood’s thoughtless laughter, When I marvelled why the flowers came first, And the leaves the season after. I loved them then, I love them now-- The gentle and the bright; I love them for the thoughts they bring Of spring’s returning light; When, first-born of the waking earth, Their kindred gay appear, And, with the Snowdrop, usher in The hope-invested year.

You’re glad Because your little tiny nose, Turns up so pert and funny; Because I know you choose your beaux More for their mirth than money; Because your eyes are deep and blue,-- Your fingers long and rosy; Because a little maid like you Would make one’s home so cozy; Because, I think, (I’m just so weak,) That some of these fine morrows You’ll listen while you hear me speak _My_ story, and _my_ sorrows!

Gay hope is theirs, by fancy fed, Less pleasing when possest; The tear forgot as soon as shed, The sunshine of the breast; Theirs buxom health, of rosy hue; Wild wit, invention ever new, And lively cheer of vigour born; The thoughtless day, the easy night, The spirits pure, the slumbers light, That fly the approach of morn. Alas, regardless of their doom, The little victims play! No sense have they of ills to come, No care beyond to-day. Yet see how all around them wait, The ministers of human fate, And black misfortune’s baleful train, Ah! show them where in ambush stand, To seize their prey, the murderous band! Ah, tell them they are men!

_Gray’s Eton College._

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Henrietta Dumont's The Language of Flowers (1851) is a floral dictionary that assigns symbolic meanings to over 200 flowers, each entry accompanied by poetry from Shakespeare, Byron, Wordsworth, and others. The preface argues that flowers have a 'real and natural significance' and a 'mission of love and mercy,' positioning the book as a guide to a universal language. The work is structured as a reference, with entries like 'Dahlia ... Elegance and Dignity' followed by verses that reinforce the attributed quality. Dumont draws on Eastern and European traditions, citing Shakespeare's Ophelia as evidence of the language's popular roots. The book reflects a 19th-century sensibility that saw nature as a moral and emotional mirror.

The Preface as Manifesto

The preface opens with a series of rhetorical questions: 'Why has the beneficent Creator scattered over the face of the earth such a profusion of beautiful flowers?' Dumont answers that flowers 'have in themselves a real and natural significance' and 'correspond to actual emotions.' This is not a mere decorative claim; she asserts that flowers have a 'mission' and that their language has been understood 'from the remotest ages.' The preface establishes the book's purpose: to explain this language as 'a part of a polished education.' Dumont's tone is earnest and moralistic, framing the floral code as both ancient and essential. She references Shakespeare's Ophelia to ground the tradition in familiar literature, and notes that European 'literati' have only recently taken notice, implying that the common people have always known.

Poetry as Evidence of Meaning

Each flower entry pairs a symbolic meaning with one or more poems. For example, the Dahlia is labeled 'Elegance and Dignity,' and the accompanying verses include lines from Willis, Miss Barrett, Milman, Byron, and Jonson. The poems are not merely decorative; they serve as proof of the flower's attributed quality. Dumont selects passages that explicitly echo the assigned trait: Willis writes of 'high-born grace' and 'bearing high,' while Milman describes 'the smooth and swimming majesty of step and tread.' The quotations are drawn from a range of poets, including Shakespeare, Dryden, and Wordsworth, creating a chorus of voices that reinforce the symbolic code. This method treats poetry as a repository of cultural meaning, where flowers are consistently linked to human virtues.

Botanical Description and Moral Correspondence

Dumont's entries often begin with a brief botanical note before moving to symbolism. The Camellia Japonica is described as 'a large, evergreen tree' with 'flowers large, of the form of a rose ... and without fragrance.' This fact is then tied to its meaning, 'Modest Merit,' via Roscoe's observation that it 'boasts no fragrance, and conceals no thorn.' The physical trait—lack of scent—becomes a moral metaphor. Similarly, the Dahlia's 'crimson and purple' colors and 'large and beautiful' flowers are said to strike the viewer with 'elegance and dignity of carriage.' Dumont consistently reads nature as a system of signs, where every botanical detail carries ethical weight. This approach reflects a broader 19th-century natural theology that saw the natural world as a book of moral lessons.

Structure and Reader Experience

The book is organized as a dictionary, with entries in alphabetical order. The excerpts show entries for Acacia, Dahlia, and Camellia Japonica, each following the same pattern: a heading with the flower name and meaning, a short botanical description, and then a selection of poems. The poems are attributed to authors like Sir Walter Raleigh, MacKellar, and anonymous writers, creating a collage of voices. The preface and contents page suggest a comprehensive reference work, but the inclusion of poetry makes it also a literary anthology. Readers are invited to browse, to find a flower and its associated verse, and to internalize the moral code embedded in the floral language. The book functions as both a guide and a meditation on virtue, using flowers as a lens for human character.

Dumont's The Language of Flowers rewards readers who approach it as a cultural artifact rather than a practical guide. The interplay between botanical fact and poetic quotation reveals a 19th-century worldview where nature and morality are intertwined. Readers may find it useful to compare entries, noting how different flowers are assigned contrasting virtues, and to consider the selection of poets—Shakespeare, Byron, Wordsworth—as a canon of moral authority. The book invites a slow, associative reading, where each flower becomes a node in a network of meanings.

Flipping through that old 1851 floral dictionary, I paused on the rose’s entry and felt a strange kinship with its Victorian certainty. Such ordered meaning feels distant from the wild, questioning spirit of A Preliminary Revision of the North American Species of Cactus, Anhalonium, and Lophophora — Text and Context, which wonders instead of declares. One seeks a language for feeling, the other a language for finding.