146 Tall Bearded Iris 



O faint perfume, no other bloom 

 Can match, for fine distilling, 

 Thy essence rare that dulls all care, 

 And sets my senses thrilling. 



W. B. Hunt: Blue Flags. 



* * And then we, 

 Just across the creek, shall see 

 (Ha! the goaty rascal!) Pan 

 Hoof it o'er the sloping green, 

 Mad with his own melody, 

 Ay, and (bless the beasty man!) 

 Stamping from the grassy soil 

 Bruised scents of Fleurs-de-lis, 

 Boneset, mint, and pennyroyal. 



Riley: Our Boyhood Haunts. 



The very fragrant varieties are probably much more 

 numerous now than in early times, for three hundred 

 years ago a poet wrote: 



The lily and the Flower-de-lis, 

 For color much contenting, 

 For that, I them do only prize, 

 They are but poor in scenting. 



Drayton: The Muses Elysium. 



