230 WILD FLOWER FAMILIES 
unfolded are crowded together to close the mouth 
of the blossom. Many who have never seen the 
flower growing in its native haunts have learned 
to love it through those exquisite lines by Bryant: 
Thou waitest late and com'st alone, 
When woods are bare and birds are flown, 
And frosts and shortening days portend 
The aged year is near his end: 
Then doth thy sweet and quiet eye 
Look through its fringes to the sky, 
Blue, blue,—as if that sky let fall 
A flower from its cerulean wall. 
These lines are beautiful even though their en- 
tire accuracy as to time of the flower’s appearance 
has been questioned by the naturalist, and their 
accuracy to its color has been questioned by the 
artist. We must allow the poet a little of his 
proverbial license, although we need not let him 
blind us to the facts of Nature. 
Blue is a favorite color with all the bees, so one 
might easily guess that these violet-blue blossoms 
are visited by bumble-bees. The anthers shed 
their pollen before the stigmas mature, so that 
cross-pollination is easily brought about. And 
the delicate fingers which add so much beauty to 
the blossoms seem also to be of decided service 
to the plant in keeping out ants and other unwel- 
come crawling insects, thus preventing the rob- 
bery of nectar. 
