“ There the rose unveils
Her breast of beauty, and each delicate bud
O’ the season comes in turn to bloom and perish.
But first of all the violet, with an eye
Blue as the midnight heavens, the frail snow-drop,
Born of the breath of Winter, and on his brow
Fixed like a pale and solitary star ;
The languid hyacinth, and wild primrose,
And daisy trodden down like modesty ;
The fox-glove, in whose drooping bells the bee
Makes her sweet music ; the narcissus, (named
From him who died for love ;) the tangled woodbine,
Lilacs, and flowering limes, and scented thorns,
And some from whom voluptuous winds of June
Catch their perfumings.”
