Nan Gerard was with me all day yesterday; she was as sweet and shy as a wild flower.
Sniff the scent out of a wild flower, and—perhaps—throw it away?
That is true; but heath, or heather as it is more frequently called, is a wild flower, and one of the most beautiful that grows.
Others, then, are desirous of claiming this wild flower for their own.
We had what we choose to call the Dorcas flower show yesterday, and we gave, as usual, prizes for wild flower bouquets.
I even saw a wild flower—an early buttercup, not an inch high—in bloom.
And she was as shy and beautiful as a wild flower and as unspoiled.
Somehow she had found her way to the desert island—or did she spring up there like a wild flower?
Every spring each farmer entering the city plucks a wild flower, and puts it in the basket.
A sweet aroma of feminine health breathed from her body, bosom, hair—a tumbly black mass—as perfume breathes from a wild flower.