Here are sweet peas, on tiptoe for a flight;
  With wings of gentle flush o’er delicate white,
  And taper fingers catching at all things,
  To bind them all about with tiny rings.
I Stood Tiptoe Upon a Little Hill.  J. KEATS.

  All will be gay when noontide wakes anew
  The buttercups, the little children’s dower.
Home Thoughts from Abroad.  R. BROWNING.

  The buttercups, bright-eyed and bold,
  Held up their chalices of gold
  To catch the sunshine and the dew.
Centennial Poem.  J.C.R.  DORR.

  We bring roses, beautiful fresh roses,
    Dewy as the morning and colored like the dawn;
  Little tents of odor, where the bee reposes,
    Swooning in sweetness of the bed he dreams upon.
The New Pastoral, Bk.  VII.  T.B.  READ.

  The amorous odors of the moveless air,—­
  Jasmine and tuberose and gillyflower,
  Carnation, heliotrope, and purpling shower
  Of Persian roses.
The Picture of St. John, Bk.  II.  B. TAYLOR.

  Then will I raise aloft the milk-white rose,
  With whose sweet smell the air shall be perfumed.
King Henry VI., Pt.  II.  Act i.  Sc. 1.  SHAKESPEARE.

  Here eglantine embalmed the air,
  Hawthorne and hazel mingled there;
  The primrose pale, and violet flower,
  Found in each cliff a narrow bower;
  Foxglove and nightshade, side by side,
  Emblems of punishment and pride,
  Grouped their dark hues with every stain
  The weather-beaten crags retain.
The Lady of the Lake, Canto I.  SIR W. SCOTT.

Wild-rose, Sweetbriar, Eglantine,
All these pretty names are mine,
And scent in every leaf is mine,
And a leaf for all is mine,
And the scent—­Oh, that’s divine! 
Happy-sweet and pungent fine,
Pure as dew, and picked as wine.
Songs and Chorus of the Flowers.  L. HUNT.

                     Roses red and violets blew
  And all the sweetest flowres that in the forrest grew.
Faerie Queene, Bk.  III.  Canto VI.  E. SPENSER.

Oh! roses and lilies are fair to see;
But the wild bluebell is the flower for me.
The Bluebell.  L.A.  MEREDITH.

And the stately lilies stand
Fair in the silvery light,
Like saintly vestals, pale in prayer;
Their pure breath sanctifies the air,
As its fragrance fills the night.
A Red Rose.  J.C.R.  DORR.

  And 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,
  Through their pavilions of tender green.
The Sensitive Plant.  P.B.  SHELLEY.

  A pure, cool lily, bending
  Near the rose all flushed and warm.
Guonare.  E.L.  SPROAT.

    There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance; pray you,
  love, remember:—­and there is pansies, that’s for thoughts.
Hamlet, Act iv.  Sc. 5.  SHAKESPEARE.