From The Autmn....

The narrow bud opens her beauties to
The sun, and love runs in her thrilling veins;

Blossoms hang round the brows of Morning, and
Flourish down the bright cheek of modest Eve,
Till clust’ring Summer breaks forth into singing,
And feather’d clouds strew flowers round her head.

William Blake (from Poetical Sketches, 1783)
Image credit : johnshelley.blogspot.com