Oh, Brignall banks are wild and fair, And Greta woods are green, And you may gather garlands there Would grace a summer's queen.
I'd love to have the whole place swimming in roses
Poppies bleed petals of sheer excess. You and I, this sweet battle ground.
The spring came suddenly, bursting upon the world as a child bursts into a room, with a laugh and a shout and hands full of flowers.
My garden all is overblown with roses,/ My spirit all is overblown with rhyme.
From the sprinkled isles, Lily on lily, that o'erlace the sea.
The lilac branches are bowed under the weight of the flowers: blooming is hard, and the most important thing is - to bloom. (“A Story About The Most Important Thing”)
Comely was the town by the curving river that they dismantled in a year's time. Beautiful was Colleton in her last spring as she flung azaleas like a girl throwing rice at a desperate wedding. In dazzling profusion, Colleton ripened in a gauze of sweet gardens and the town ached beneath a canopy of promissory fragrance.
The plant kingdom covers the entire earth, offering our senses great pleasure and the delights of summer.
But mighty Nature bounds as from her birth; The sun is in the heavens, and life on earth: Flowers in the valley, splendor in the beam, Health on the gale, and freshness in the stream.
The Admiral says that he never beheld so fair a thing: trees all along the river, beautiful and green, and different from ours, with flowers and fruits each according to their kind, many birds and little birds which sing very sweetly.
And where she went, the flowers took thickest root, As she had sow'd them with her odorous foot.
Until it seems the whole city will be covered with gold pollen shaken from the bell-towers, lilies plundered with the weight of massive bees . . .
Now Nature hangs her mantle green On every blooming tree, And spreads her sheets o'daisies white Out o'er the grassy lea.
My backyard was replete with madness, it just grew indigenously in South Florida.
I sat me down to watch upon a bank With ivy canopied and interwove With flaunting honeysuckle.
The dandelions and buttercups gild all the lawn: the drowsy bee stumbles among the clover tops, and summer sweetens all to me.
God brings millions of flowers to bloom without force.
Yes, I do talk to my trees. I did say to one 'You'd better smarten yourself up or you'll be gone' and the next year, well, you've never seen such a mass of flowers.
'Tis spring; come out to ramble The hilly brakes around, For under thorn and bramble About the hollow ground The primroses are found. And there's the windflower chilly With all the winds at play, And there's the Lenten lily That has not long to stay And dies on Easter day.
The spring's already at the gate With looks my care beguiling; The country round appeareth straight A flower-garden smiling.
Yes, I'd love to have a garden of my own--spacious, and full of everything that is fragrant and flowering. But if I don't succeed, never mind--I've still got the dream.
Who are the violets now That strew the lap of the new-come spring?
Oh to be a pear tree – any tree in bloom! With kissing bees singing of the beginning of the world!
It is the month of June, The month of leaves and roses, When pleasant sights salute the eyes, And pleasant scents the noses.
