O'er which it well might take a pleasant sleep,
But that 'tis ever startled by the leap
Of buds into ripe flowers.
Keats.
Now the glories of the year
May be viewed at the best,
And the earth doth now appear
In her fairest garments dress'd:
Sweetly smelling plants and flowers
Do perfume the garden bowers;
Hill and valley, wood and field,
Mixed with pleasure profits yield.
George Withers.
Blue flags, yellow flags, flags all freckled,
Which will you take? Yellow, blue, speckled!
Take which you will, speckled, blue, yellow,
Each in its way has not a fellow.
C. Rossetti.