The roll of the seasons; a book of nature essays ([1913]) by G.G. Desmond

WITHIN the village, where the road winds under the 
hill before climbing the shoulder, the celandine is 
now in full glory. Axle-high, all along the side of 
the road, the dark, glossy leaves are starred with the 
polished blossom, and a little maiden, free from the 
fear of motor-cars in this quiet and ill-metalled lane,
is gathering them into a golden handful. Children
like their flowers in leafless bunches primroses or
celandine or violets pressed one by one into a palpable
hoard of blossom and a solidity of scent. Their
mothers please them by finding a crock to put the
bunches in, and at this time of the year every cottage
will show upon the dresser one or other of the
favourite spring flowers. Afterwards, when flowers
are everywhere and of many kinds, less notice is
taken of them. One would think that the spring
flowers would be exterminated and the summer
species far more common, but even the violets that
are for a week or two sought far and wide, at last
bloom unheeded all through the village street, to
come up just as abundantly again next year.
The roll of the seasons; a book of nature essays ([1913]) by G.G. Desmond