The snowdrop and primrose our woodlands adorn,
And violets bathe in the wet o' the morn.

The snowdrop and primrose our woodlands adorn,
And violets bathe in the wet o' the morn.

Who that has loved knows not the tender tale
Which flowers reveal, when lips are coy to tell?
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Who that has loved knows not the tender tale
Which flowers reveal, when lips are coy to tell?
- Edward George Earle Lytton Bulwer-Lytton, first Baron Lytton,

I know not which I love the most,
Nor which the comeliest shows,
The timid, bashful violet
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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.

Earth laughs in flowers.

Earth laughs in flowers.

Art is the unceasing effort to compete with the beauty of flowers - and never succeeding.

Art is the unceasing effort to compete with the beauty of flowers - and never succeeding.

Now blooms the lily by the bank,
The primrose down the brae;
The hawthorn's budding in the read more

Now blooms the lily by the bank,
The primrose down the brae;
The hawthorn's budding in the glen,
The milkwhite is the slae.

A root is a flower that disdains fame.

A root is a flower that disdains fame.

And lilies are still lilies, pulled
By smutty hands, though spotted from their white.

And lilies are still lilies, pulled
By smutty hands, though spotted from their white.

The earth laughs in flowers.

The earth laughs in flowers.