OSTARA FARM: Breeders of premium, purebred Scottish Blackface Sheep


ERE yet our course was graced with social trees

It lacked not old remains of hawthorn bowers,

Where small birds warbled to their paramours;

And, earlier still, was heard the hum of bees;

I saw them ply their harmless robberies,

And caught the fragrance which the sundry flowers,

Fed by the stream with soft perpetual showers,

Plenteously yielded to the vagrant breeze.

There bloomed the strawberry of the wilderness;

The trembling eyebright showed her sapphire blue,

The thyme her purple, like the blush of Even;

And if the breath of some to no caress

Invited, forth they peeped so fair to view,

All kinds alike seemed favourites of Heaven.


The River Duddon (1-14)

A Series Of Sonnets, 1820

VI. Flowers

William Wordsworth

(1770 – 1850)


Mark how the yellow iris wearily

Leans back its throat, as though it would be kissed

By its false chamberer, the dragon-fly,

Who, like a blue vein on a girl’s white wrist,

Sleeps on that snowy primrose of the night,

Which ’gins to flush with crimson shame, and die beneath the light. 


The Garden of Eros (253-258)

Oscar Wilde