Poetry is a rich, full-bodied whistle, cracked ice crunching in pails, the night that numbs the leaf, the duel of two nightingales, the sweet pea that has run wild, Creation's tears in shoulder blades. ~Boris Pasternak
Here are sweet peas, on tip toe for flight:
With wings of gentle flush o'er delicate white,
And taper fingers catching at all things,
To bind them all about with tiny rings.
One quote wouldn't do with these two to choose from. And just picking these sweet peas, only an hour ago, was like living in a poem. They've never bloomed so early. These are volunteers that found a wet spot in the summer.
Painted Lady sweet peas date back to 1730 and survived cultivation until 1910, when they were considered weak. This newer variety has more flowers and is intensely fragrant.