58. The trailing arbutus, shrouding its grace,
Till fragrance bewrayeth its hiding-place.
Mrs. Sigourney.
59. The woodbine wild,
That loves to hang on barren boughs remote
Her wreaths of flowery perfume.
W. Mason—The English Garden.
60. The Naiad-like lily of the vale,
Whom youth makes so fair and passion so pale,
That the light of its tremulous bells is seen