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

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.

Flowers grow out of dark moments.

Flowers grow out of dark moments.

Flowers always make people better, happier and more helpful; they are sunshine, food and medicine to the soul.

Flowers always make people better, happier and more helpful; they are sunshine, food and medicine to the soul.

Fair flowers that are not gather'd in their prime rot and consume themselves in little time.

Fair flowers that are not gather'd in their prime rot and consume themselves in little time.

A root is a flower that disdains fame.

A root is a flower that disdains fame.

Flowers. . . are a proud assertion that a ray of beauty outvalues all the utilities of the world.

Flowers. . . are a proud assertion that a ray of beauty outvalues all the utilities of the world.

I hate flowers -- I paint them because they're cheaper than models and they don't move.

I hate flowers -- I paint them because they're cheaper than models and they don't move.

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.