John Green on Flowers
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“Swan flocks of lilies shoreward lying, In sweetness, not in music, dying.”
“What airs outblown from ferny dells And clover-bloom and sweet brier smells.”
“Along the river's summer walk, The withered tufts of asters nod; And trembles on its arid stalk The hoar plume of the golden-rod. And on a ground of sombre fir, And azure-studded juniper, The silver birch its buds of purple shows, And scarlet berries tell where bloomed the sweet wild-rose!”