Not Iris in her pride and bravery <br />Adorns her arch with such variety; <br />Nor doth the Milk-white Way in frosty night <br />Appear so fair and beautiful in sight, <br />As do these fields and groves and sweetest bowers <br />Bestrewed and decked with parti-coloured flowers. <br />Along the bubbling brooks and silver glide, <br />That at the bottom doth in silence slide, <br />The water-flowers and lilies on the banks <br />Like blazing comets burgeon all in ranks; <br />Under the hawthorn and the poplar tree, <br />Where sacred Phoebe may delight to be, <br />The primrose and the purple hyacinth, <br />The dainty violet and the wholesome minth, <br />The double-daisy and the cowslip (Queen) <br />Of summer flowers) do over-peer the green; <br />And round about the valley as ye pass, <br />Ye may not see, for peeping flowers, the grass.<br /><br />George Peele<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/not-iris-in-her-pride/
