Beauty, unaccompanied by virtue, is as a flower without perfume.

Beauty, unaccompanied by virtue, is as a flower without perfume.

They know the time to go!
The fairy clocks strike their inaudible hour
In field and woodland, read more

They know the time to go!
The fairy clocks strike their inaudible hour
In field and woodland, and each punctual flower
Bows at the signal an obedient head
And hastens to bed.

The earth laughs in flowers.

The earth laughs in flowers.

Brazen helm of daffodillies,
With a glitter toward the light.
Purple violets for the mouth,
read more

Brazen helm of daffodillies,
With a glitter toward the light.
Purple violets for the mouth,
Breathing perfumes west and south;
And a sword of flashing lilies,
Holden ready for the fight.

Thick on the woodland floor
Gay company shall be,
Primrose and Hyacinth
And frail read more

Thick on the woodland floor
Gay company shall be,
Primrose and Hyacinth
And frail Anemone,
Perennial Strawberry-bloom,
Woodsorrel's pencilled veil,
Dishevel'd Willow-weed
And Orchis purple and pale.

Flowers have an expression of countenance as much as men and
animals. Some seem to smile; some have a read more

Flowers have an expression of countenance as much as men and
animals. Some seem to smile; some have a sad expression; some
are pensive and diffident; others again are plain, honest and
upright, like the broad-faced sunflower and the hollyhock.

Big doesn't necessarily mean better. Sunflowers aren't better than violets.

Big doesn't necessarily mean better. Sunflowers aren't better than violets.

The windflower and the violet, they perished long ago,
And the brier-rose and the orchis died amid the summer read more

The windflower and the violet, they perished long ago,
And the brier-rose and the orchis died amid the summer glow;
But on the hills the golden-rod, and the aster in the wood,
And the yellow sunflower by the brook, in autumn beauty stood,
Till fell the first from the clear cold heaven, as falls the
plague on men,
And the brightness of their smile was gone, from upland glade and
glen.

Mourn, little harebells, o'er the lea;
Ye stately foxgloves fair to see!
Ye woodbines, hanging bonnilie
read more

Mourn, little harebells, o'er the lea;
Ye stately foxgloves fair to see!
Ye woodbines, hanging bonnilie
In scented bowers!
Ye roses on your thorny tree
The first o' flow'rs.