The temple bell stops but I still hear the sound coming out of the flowers.
The rose that lives its little hour
Is prized beyond the sculptured flower.
To me, the meanest flower that blows can give thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.
- William Wordsworth
I know a bank where the wild thyme blows,
Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows
Quite over canopied with luscious woodbine,
With sweet musk-roses and with elgantine.
- William Shakespeare