I must gather a few bushels." He looked over the bed of beautiful wild alum and hesitated.
"I vow I hate to touch you," he said.

"You are a picture right now, and in a week you will be a miracle.

It seems a shame to tear up a plant for its roots, just at flowering time, and I can't avoid breaking down half I don't take, getting the ones I do.

I wish you were not so pretty! You are one of the colours I love most.

You remind me of red-bud, blazing star, and all those exquisite magenta shades that poets, painters, and the Almighty who made them love so much they hesitate about using them lavishly.