And in his Io he calls the flowers children of spring, where he says—
Strewing around sweet children of the spring.
And in his Centaur, which is a drama composed in many metres of various kinds, he calls them children of the meadow—
There, too, they did invade the countless host
Of all the new-born flowers that deck the fields,
Hunting with joy the offspring of the meadows.
And in his Bacchus he says—
The ivy, lover of the dance,
Child of the mirthful year.
And in his Ulysses he speaks thus of roses:—