The fittest name, do call them Venus' joy;
For in their colour they do vie with Venus,
Though far inferior to her decent form.
The iris in its roots is like th' agallis,
Or hyacinth fresh sprung from Ajax' blood;
It rises high with swallow-shaped flowers,
Blooming when summer brings the swallows back.
Thick are the leaves they from their bosom pour,
And the fresh flowers constantly succeeding,
Shine in their stooping mouths.