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And the same poet, being passionately fond of flowers, says also in his Alphesibcea—
The glorious beauty of her dazzling body
Shone brilliant, a sweet sight to every eye;
And modesty, a tender blush exciting,
Tinted her gentle cheeks with delicate rose:
Her waxy hair, in gracefully modell'd curls,
Falling as though arranged by sculptor's hand,
Waved in the wanton breeze luxuriant.
[p. 971] And in his Io he calls the flowers children of spring, where he says—
Strewing around sweet children of the spring.
And in his Centaur, which is a drama composed in many metres of various kinds, he calls them children of the meadow—
There, too, they did invade the countless host
Of all the new-born flowers that deck the fields,
Hunting with joy the offspring of the meadows.
And in his Bacchus he says—
The ivy, lover of the dance,
Child of the mirthful year.
And in his Ulysses he speaks thus of roses:—
And in their hair the Hours' choicest gifts
They wore, the flowering, fragrant rose,
The loveliest foster-child of spring.
And in his Thyestes he says—
The brilliant rose, and modest snow-white lily.
And in his Minyæ he says—
There was full many a store of Venus to view,
Dark in the rich flowers in due season ripe.

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