THE FLOWERS OF MAY. 135 
Fetch me that flower; the herb I showed thee once : 
The juice of it on sleeping eyelids laid 
Will make or man or woman madly dote 
Upon the next live creature that it sees.” 
In another of his plays, notably the last complete 
one, ‘The Winter’s Tale,” the one in which the golden 
glow of the sunset of his genius tinges the russet mantle 
of the morn, the gentle Perdita leads us by the hand 
through the meadows by the side of Avon while she 
gathers in thought 
“ Daffodils, 
That come before the swallow dares, and take 
The winds of March with beauty ; violets dim, 
But sweeter than the lids of Juno’s eyes 
Or Cytherea’s breath ; pale primroses, 
That die unmarried, ere they can behold 
Bright Phoebus in his strength ; bold oxlip and 
The crown imperial.” 
Milton, too, is not behind Shakspere in his appre- 
ciation of these lovely flowers. When describing the 
bower of Adam and Eve in Paradise, he gives the violet 
a place: 
“Under-foot the violet, 
Crocus and hyacinth, with rich inlay 
Broider’d the ground, more colour’d than with stone 
Of costliest emblem :” 
