Mountain gorses, ever-golden. Cankered not the whole year long! Do ye teach us to be strong, Howsoever pricked and holden Like your thorny blooms and so Trodden on by rain and snow, Up the hillside of this life, as bleak as where ye grow? E. B. BrowningLessons from the Gorse.
Love you not, then, to list and hear The crackling of the gorse-flower near, Pouring an orange-scented tide Of fragrance oer the desert wide? Wm. HowittA June Day.