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Pink Dahlia Hortensis
Dahlia is a genus of bushy, tuberous, perennial plants native to Mexico, Central America, and Colombia. There at least 36 species of Dahlia. Dahlia hybrids are commonly grown as garden plants. The Aztecs gathered and cultivated the dahlia for food, ceremony, as well as decorative purposes, and the long woody stem of one variety was used for small pipes.
Dahlia - genere delle Asteraceae, originario del Messico, dove il tubero viene considerato commestibile, comprende una dozzina di specie con innumerevoli ibridi e varietà , hanno radici tuberiformi oblunghe, fusto eretto, spesso legnoso alla base, di altezza variabile tra i 20 cm e i 2 m, foglie grandi composte, formate da 3-5 foglioline dentate, portano fiori semplici o doppi molto decorativi di forma e colori vari.
The Rose
To Ireland In The Coming Times
Know, that I would accounted be
True brother of a company
That sang, to sweeten Ireland's wrong,
Ballad and story, rann and song;
Nor be I any less of them,
Because the red-rose-bordered hem
Of her, whose history began
Before God made the angelic clan,
Trails all about the written page.
When Time began to rant and rage
The measure of her flying feet
Made Ireland's heart begin to beat;
And Time bade all his candles flare
To light a measure here and there;
And may the thoughts of Ireland brood
Upon a measured guietude.
Nor may I less be counted one
With Davis, Mangan, Ferguson,
Because, to him who ponders well,
My rhymes more than their rhyming tell
Of things discovered in the deep,
Where only body's laid asleep.
For the elemental creatures go
About my table to and fro,
That hurry from unmeasured mind
To rant and rage in flood and wind,
Yet he who treads in measured ways
May surely barter gaze for gaze.
Man ever journeys on with them
After the red-rose-bordered hem.
Ah, faeries, dancing under the moon,
A Druid land, a Druid tune.!
While still I may, I write for you
The love I lived, the dream I knew.
From our birthday, until we die,
Is but the winking of an eye;
And we, our singing and our love,
What measurer Time has lit above,
And all benighted things that go
About my table to and fro,
Are passing on to where may be,
In truth's consuming ecstasy,
No place for love and dream at all;
For God goes by with white footfall.
I cast my heart into my rhymes,
That you, in the dim coming times,
May know how my heart went with them
After the red-rose-bordered hem.
William Butler Yates
Tulip season is just about over in New York parks. Here are some late bloomers in the Central Park Conservatory Garden.
More photos from Central Park are in my set
More photos of flowers are in my set
I got the first of a collection of little pillows done for our little pink girl's bench. My eight-year-old daughter helped me sew it. She is quite proud of it.
This one bloomed in the spring and then just sat there most of the summer. Then, I noticed this flower the other day.
Hoverfly and lilly in my backgarden, south coast of England. www.facebook.com/phillippalmerphotography