No, the wild chestnut tree,—in high repute
For household fuel, but with a bitter fruit.
Svanhild.
No, a camellia; at our balls, ’tis said,
The chief adornment of a lady’s head.
Mrs. Strawman.
No, it is like a flower, O such a bright one;—
Stay now—a blue one, no, it was a white one—
What is its name—? Dear me—the one I met—;
Well it is singular how I forget!