Happy indeed is the naturalist: to him the seasons come round like old friends; to him the birds sing: as he walks along, the flowers stretch out from the hedges, or look up from the ground, and as each year fades away, he looks back on a fresh store of happy memories.
Light-enchanted sunflower, thou Who gazest ever true and tender On the sun's revolving splendour.
Of all the flowers, me thinks a rose is best.
I love blue in all its shades and textures. I wear navy like others wear black, and I love the blue in flowers - cornflowers, delphiniums.
I know not which I love the most, Nor which the comeliest shows, The timid, bashful violet Or the royal-hearted rose: The pansy in purple dress, The pink with cheek of red, Or the faint, fair heliotrope, who hangs, Like a bashful maid her head.
The lovely flowers embarrass me. They make me regret I am not a bee.
I've waited a long time to show these flowers how pretty you are.
That of all the floures in the mede, Thanne love I most these floures white and rede, Suche as men callen daysyes in her toune.
