Pink

Swan flocks of lilies shoreward lying,
In sweetness, not in music, dying.

Pink

Fair is the marigold, for pottage meet.

Pink

Her heart was a passion-flower, bearing within it the crown of thorns and the cross of Christ.

Pink

The beauteous pink I would not slight.
Pride of the gardener's leisure.

Pink

The primrose banks how fair!

Pink

A primrose by a river's brim,
A yellow primrose was to him,
And it was nothing more.

Pink

Primroses, the Spring may love them;
Summer knows but little of them.

Pink

And the saffron flower
Clear as a flame of sacrifice breaks out.

Pink

The morning star of flowers.

Pink

The pea is but a wanton witch
In too much haste to wed,
And clasps her rings on every hand.

Pink