From The Plea of the Midsummer Fairies

The pastoral cowslips are our little pets,
And daisy stars, whose firmament is green;
Pansies, and those veil’d nuns, meek violets,
Sighing to that warm world from which they screen;
And golden daffodils, pluck’d for May’s Queen;
And lonely harebells, quaking on the heath;
And Hyacinth, long since a fair youth seen,
Whose tuneful voice, turn’d fragrance in his breath,
Kiss’d by sad Zephyr, guilty of his death.’