I sometimes think that never blows so red
The rose as where some buried Cæsar bled;
That every hyacinth the garden wears
Dropt in its lap from some once lovely head.
Omar Khayyam.
Of Gardens.
In July come gilliflowers of all varieties, musk
roses, the lime tree in blossom, early pears, and
plums in fruit, ginnetings, quadlins.
Bacon.
A tuft of evening primroses,
O'er which the mind may hover till it dozes;