Smoking is to be rated in US films. Well, if floriography were filmography, Rhus Cotinus (a.k.a. Cotinus coggygria) would be Humphrey Bogart, playing Venetian Sumach instead of Sam Spade: the smoke plant vis a vis the smoking detective. And if the smoking rating were indeed retroactive, todays plant would probably come with a PG certificate.

Why so? Well, let us examine it against the three questions the Motion Picture Association uses to determine whether a film warrants a certification: Is smoking pervasive in the film, does it glamorise the act, and is there a historic or other mitigating context?

First off, this Southern European shrub-of-a-gun is perpetually puffing, or at least gives the impression that it is - hence the nickname smoke tree. Arguably, it is not tobacco fumes that are billowing about its blue green leaves, but panicles of wispy stalks that look very much like cigarette billows. But, like many smokers, Rhus cotinus is well known for its yellow stains; the root is much sought after by tanners.

Moody, smoky, cool - Cotinus coggygria/Smoke plant by tanakawho

As for glamourising the act of smoking, well, this did not become a garden favourite for nothing, you know. And there is definitely some subliminal messaging going on: in the language of flowers, Venetian sumach connotes intellectual greatness.

At a push, the plant might escape a rating on the grounds of mitigating context. After all, it is a smoker by nature, not nurture. Nothing to get puffed up about, then.

Good for giving to: Detectives. And anyone else before 1 July 2007.

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Fresh Beginnings
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Fighting the Battle
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You Deserve the Best
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Everything Backed by a Full Guarantee
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Hackney - home to Londons Murder Mile. But do not go thinking this hoods bad reputation is a new thing. Dangers been rife out there since way back in 1763, when the notorious Conrad Joachim Loddiges was packing pontis and causing havoc in the back yards of the boroughs streets.

Young CJs crime was more horticultural than homicidal, however. He was the fellow who introduced the much maligned Rhododendron ponticums to the sceptred isle. Despite boasting bling amethyst blossoms and emerald leaves, the evergreen shrub is deemed a shady character by conservationists. Apparently, it  has a habit of blocking the sun, preventing indigenous plants from growing. Quite prescient of the Victorian floriographers to accord it the meaning danger.

Rhododendron ponticum by Grey Wulf

Good for giving to: Bees, if you believe the story of funny honey.

Great rhododendrons in literature: A portent?

We had passed between the white posts of a gate and up a curving drive, lined with rhododendron bushes.

From The Poison Belt by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

Paper money, a lack of intimacy and mild opiates are not the kind of thing you'd usually think to find lurking quietly in the garden. But gardens are full of surprises - especially ones in which you find Lactuca sativa growing.

Yes, the humble lettuce: slang for cash, floriographic connoter of cold-heartedness and producer of the milky substance lactucarium, a.k.a. lettuce opium. And you thought all the Asteraceaes were fresh-faced as daisies? The similarity between the cultivated lettuce and the rest of its botanical family seem, on the surface of it at any rate, to stop at its clusters of butter-coloured dandelion-like flowers.

Bolting lettuce by Charles & Clint

Putting the money (lettuce?) in the lettuce by Mussels

Good for giving to: Frigid seekers of salad days.

Great lettuces in literature: Perhaps Jelila Jamb would be a good match for the Tin Man:

At this moment the soldier returned leading a young girl by the hand. She seemed very sweet and modest, having a pretty face and beautiful green eyes and hair. A dainty green silk skirt reached to her knees, showing silk stockings embroidered with pea-pods, and green satin slippers with bunches of lettuce for decorations instead of bows or buckles.

From The Marvelous Land of Oz by L. Frank Baum

Lettuce - The Daily Flower for 20 March

The horror! The horror! Mistah Kurtz, he dead. Alas, 'twas not by venomous asp that Conrad's antagonist met his bitter end, but perhaps he thought a bit of Aristolochia serpentaria might help him anyway. Thousands of cultural critics may disagree, but just as many horticulturalists might suspect that the dying words of the adventurer were a plea for some Virginia snakeroot, which is shorthand for horror in the language of flowers.

Although this North American native was used by native North Americans to treat snakebites, you ought be wary of the plant as it's got a heart of darkness, too (heart-shaped leaves as well, but that's beside the point): excess ingestion of the tuber can lead to all sorts of nasty gastro-intestinal complications and sometimes-fatal breathing problems.

Best, then, to keep away from this brown-flowered perennial. You shouldn't find that too tricky, though; it's a bit of a stinker.

Virginia snakeroot (USDA-NRCS PLANTS Database / Britton, N.L., and A. Brown. 1913. Illustrated flora of the northern states and Canada. Vol. 1: 645.)

Good for giving to: Nostrum peddlars.

Great snakeroot in literature:

"Wha'd Ah take?" Well, le' me see:
Firs',-horhound drops an' catnip tea;
Den rock candy soaked in rum,
An' a good sized chunk o' camphor gum;
Next Ah tried was castor oil,
An' snakeroot tea brought to a boil;
Sassafras tea fo' to clean mah blood;
But none o' dem t'ings didn' do no good.
Den when home remedies seem to shirk,
Dem pantry bottles was put to work

From 'Calling the Doctor' by John Wesley Holloway

Virginia Snakeroot - The Daily Flower for 19 March

The Little White Violet is a silent black-and-white film produced by the prolific Lucius J. Henderson in 1915. Other than the fact that it involved a nun, the film's finer details have eluded our researchers rather effectively.

And, in a strange symmetry:

The white violet is a pale-flowered perennial in the Violaceae family (binomial: Viola alba). Other than the fact that it connotes innocence in floriography, the flower's finer details have eluded our researchers rather effectively.

White violet (Viola alba)

Good for giving to: Someone in whose mouth butter wouldn't melt, let alone parma violet sweets.

Great white violets in literature: A virtuous picture indeed:

Through the crowd there came a little form, a wreath of pure white violets lay among the bright locks that fell so softly round the gentle face, where a deep blush glowed [...]

From Flower Fables by  Louisa May Alcott

White Violet - The Daily Flower for 14 March

Wine and olives: two key ingredients for an evening of great conversation. And a great way to ensure that the great conversation never deteriorates into too heated debate. Just before you migrate from attacking an idea to attacking the man, stop - and offer your companion another olive. It's modern shorthand for 'peace'.

True, it's more the olive branch with its scented white blossoms than the tasty drupes that have symbolised freedom from strife in the past, but one does what one can when once doesn't have easy access to a sprig of the Mediterranean native.

Olea europaea from Koehler's Medicinal-Plants 1887

Olive trees (or extracts thereof) are also used in Bach flower remedies. Apparently, 'the keywords for prescribing it are 'Complete exhaustion' and 'Mental fatigue'' - so it's not only a good prescription for peace, but for peace of mind.

Good for giving to: Belligerent fools.

Great olives in literature: Westmorland knows just what the olive means:

Health to my sovereign, and new happinessAdded to that that am to deliver!
Prince John, your son, doth kiss your Grace's hand.vMowbray, the Bishop Scroop, Hastings, and all,
Are brought to the correction of your law.
There is not now a rebel's sword unsheath'd,
But Peace puts forth her olive everywhere.
The manner how this action hath been borne
Here at more leisure may your Highness read,
With every course in his particular.
From Act IV, Scene IV of King Henry IV, Part 2 by William Shakespeare

Olive - The Daily Flower for 8 March

When he saw her come back, late, from the office,
Her arms full, and her hair wet
She reminded him of the hyacinth girl
In that classic poem by Eliot.
And so, inspired to be that much gallanter,
He sent her flowers in white and lavender.
Perhaps it was prescience, perhaps just a hunch,
but he knew that, for her,
March would now cease to be
The cruellest month.

(With apologies to T.S. Eliot)

Belladonna, honey-scented hyacinths mixing memory and desire at Serenata Flowers

If legend is true, the hyacinth has a noble and sporting heritage. A handsome young discus player, Hyakinthos, the apple of Apollo's eye, was practising his throws when the jealous West Wind blew the heavy disc back at him - and from his blood the beautiful hyacinth grew.

The Aromatherapy arrangement (great for masking the city's unguent smells) from Serenata Flowers

Nowadays (outside of wood-panelled libraries), hyacinths are still associated with sport, particularly apt as the long stems crowned with clusters of starlike flowerlets can be seen as floral replicas of the Olympic torch.

Good for giving to: Anyone in need of a little faith (according to the floriographers).

Great hyacinths in literature:

According to the great alchemist, Pierre de Boniface, the diamond rendered a man invisible, and the agate of India made him eloquent. The cornelian appeased anger, and the hyacinth provoked sleep, and the amethyst drove away the fumes of wine.

From The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde

Hyacinth - The Daily Flower for 7 March

in Just-
spring when the world is pop-
pylicious the little
coronaria anemone
blooms blue and red

and youandi come
running in antici-
pation (its
meaning

when the world was industrially re
volving)

the pretty
little windflower (family
Ranun-
culaceae) comes dancing
in bluewhiteorred and

it's
spring
and
the

five-to-eight-petalled
anemone is wind-
whisked
far
and
wee

(With apologies to ee cummings)

Sapphire Nights, an anemone arrangement that's filled with promise at Serenata Flowers

Good for giving to: Anyone expectant .

Great anemones in literature:

The anemone and the columbine
have grown in the garden
where melancholy sleeps
between love and disdain

our shadows also come there
which the night will dissipate
the sun that turns them dark
with them will disappear

the deities of the running waters
let their hair flow
pass you must give chase to
that beautiful shadow which you desire

'Clotilde' by Guillaume Apollinaire (trans. Christopher Goldsack)

Poppy Anemone - The Daily Flower for 5 March

Ananas comosus sounds like the name of a cartoon heroine who takes the form of an intrepid Russian space cadet by day and a Josephine Bakeresque dancer by night. Well, perhaps not to everyone. It's certainly a name that smacks of the exotic, though. And so it should - at least if you don't live in South America, from where this edible bromeliad is assumed to originate.

Pineapple flowers by seveno2003

Wherever in the world you're from, you're probably more familiar with the fruit of the pineapple plant than the flower. Although the spiralled segments of the former epitomise the notion of perfection not only in flavour but by their Fibonacci-ness, the small bright purple, reddish or silver flowers embody the pineapple's floriographic connotation equally well.

Good for giving to: Utopian mathematicians.

Great pineapples in literature: A fictitious genealogy of the transition from a fruit to a grenade...

He hurled a pineapple at the ancient enemy of his people.
From Tarzan of the Apes by Edgar Rice Burroughs

Pineapple - The Daily Flower for 8 February

Don't be too soon flattered when someone whispers 'I think of you'. It sounds like a nice idea on the surface of it, but there's some significant evidence to the contrary in the language of flowers. After all, 'I think of you' is what pansies connote: and one look at their faces suggests that those thoughts might not be all that sweet.

Angry pansies by idreamofdaylight

True, not every Viola tricolor hortensis turns its nose up in its sallow skin this way. The five-petalled flowers (which are found equally often in rich blues as pale golds) can be quite expressionless at times, either single-coloured or with a few radial markings, resulting in a rather genteel demeanour - a two-sidedness of appearance that's reflected in the usage of the word pansy in popular culture, referring, on the lighter side, to a Milquetoast, and, somewhat more harshly, to a pimp.

Good for giving to: D.H. Lawrence fans.

Great pansies in literature:

Ah, Cruel Love! must I endure
Thy many scorns, and find no cure?
Say, are thy medicines made to be
Helps to all others but to me?
I'll leave thee, and to Pansies come:
Comforts you'll afford me some:
You can ease my heart, and do
What Love could ne'er be brought unto.
From 'To Pansies' by Robert Herrick

Does this poem inspire that loving feeling? It might inspire quite a bit more if you send it to someone with some Valentine flowers.

Pansy - The Daily Flower for 5 February

Down in the Lone Star State, there's a song about a girl with eyes as bright as diamonds that sparkle like the dew. Well, that yellow rose of Texas sure don't sound like she's a fickle, green-eyed monster who's loved any less than she was yesterday, so I'm all for heading off those alleged floriographic connotations of infidelity, jealousy and decrease of love at the gulch, and embracing the ones of friendship, gladness and true love.

Tell your true love how glad their friendship makes you by sending a Magnum Opus Valentine bouquet from Serenata Flowers.

Good for giving to: Valentine flower lovers.

Great yellow roses in literature:

I offer you that kernel of myself that I have saved,
somehow --the central heart that deals not
in words, traffics not with dreams, and is
untouched by time, by joy, by adversities.
I offer you the memory of a yellow rose seen at
sunset, years before you were born.
I offer you explanations of yourself, theories about
yourself, authentic and surprising news of yourself.
I can give you my loneliness, my darkness, the
hunger of my heart; I am trying to bribe you 
with uncertainty, with danger, with defeat.
Jorge Luis Borges (1934)

Yellow Rose - The Daily Flower for 2 February

Sour it may taste, but bad-tempered it is not. Au contraire, the little wood sorrel connotes joy in floriography.

A somewhat fitting association, considering that Oxalis acetosella, as it's binomially known, wears a triad of heart-shaped leaflets below its white blossoms. Add it to salads for pep, but just not too liberally: too much oxalic acid can mess with one's calcium levels and cause some undesirable effects that won't leave you feeling very happy.

Wood sorrel by mwri, who remarks that the Finnish name for the flower, Ketunleipä, means fox's bread.

Good for giving to: Anyone Irish on 17 March.

Great wood sorrel in literature:

Almost everything I've seen pushes- the violent
seed-propelling shot of the witch hazel pod,
the philosophy implicit in the inside out
seed-thrust of the wood-sorrel. All hairy
saltcedar seeds are single-minded
in their grasping of wind and spinning.
From 'Opus From Space' by Pattiann Rogers

Wood Sorrel - The Daily Flower for 1 February

I'm beginning to suspect that white ivy is a bit of a white lie. Of course, it's seen scalloped on marble gateposts, forged into cast-iron fencing and plastered on heraldic insignias often enough, but in nature? It's proving more than the 'rarity' it's purported to connote in floriography.

(Black and) white ivy by ebeth

Plausible explanations: today was a bit of a white elephant for the Victorians, so they associated it with a flower that was equally futile (or futile to try and look for); the floriographer who came up with the idea of white ivy was chasing white rabbits at the time; someone conveniently forgot to add leaf geranium to the end of white ivy; or, the person who came up with the flower for today was using a monochrome picture of Hedera hibernica as their source material.

Surely there is a better answer?

Good for giving to: Hard-to-find ones of a kind.

Great white ivy in literature: The rest of the things described in this 'pleasantly sentimental, fancifully tender and humorous study of life' seem real enough... but is this sufficient proof  that the plant exists?:

And, besides this, there were tents roofed with boughs of white ivy and of the vine--the roots of which derived their moisture from casks full of earth, and were watered in the same manner as the gardens.
From Prue and I by George William Curtis

White Ivy - The Daily Flower for 31 January

Every rose has its thorn, but there's no need to be bleak about it. Rather, take heed from the 'ever cheerful' holly bush: every prickly leafed Ilex aquifolium has its beautiful white four-lobed blossom and blood-red berry.

Ilex aquifolium (source: www.biolib.de)

Most often seen around Christmas time, holly, rather aptly, has quite a holy history. According to Madame Grieve, 'an old legend declares that the Holly first sprang up under the footsteps of Christ, when He trod the earth, and its thorny leaves and scarlet berries, like drops of blood, have been thought symbolical of the Saviour's sufferings'. Certainly, treading on anything 'aquifolium', meaning with needle-like leaves, is sure to prickle the foot.

Good for giving to: Anyone in need of ice cubes (Mme Grieve reports that the flowers were once purported to freeze water).

Great hollies in literature: Perhaps we should be wary of them making us too cheerful:

[...] the wild holly berries make the beholder forget his home with their beauty [...]
From Walden & on the Duty of Civil Disobedience by Henry David Thoreau

Find out more about The Daily Flower series and floriography.

Holly - The Daily Flower for 30 January

Snowman, then Snowmass,
Modesty reduces it
To a Summer Cloud

Not sure this little not-quite-haiku encapsulates refinement, the floriographic connotation of the white geranium, but we can't fault it for containing the names of a few ivory cultivars in the Geranium genus.

That's not to say that white geraniums lack sophistication. There's something quite remarkable about any flower that acts as a natural deterrent to Japanese beetles. Unless, of course, you're a Coleoptera nipponaise.

White geranium by audreyjm529

Good for giving to: Anyone except Yoko Ono?

Great white geraniums in literature: The epitome of sartorial civility:

He wore a silk hat and a frock coat, the lapel of which was adorned with a white geranium surrounded by leaves.
From Of Human Bondage by W. Somerset Maugham

White Geranium - The Daily Flower for 29 January

Cross-dressing and gender questioning are popular in Soho nightclubs and Sorbonnesque institutions; a modern reality that's not usually prevalent in the arbours' reality. But anyone acquainted with Fraxinus excelsior will know that the Euro Ash is just as forward thinking on this subject as devotees of Euro Trash.

Fraxinus excelsior from Prof. Dr. Otto Wilhelm Thomé Flora von Deutschland, '-sterreich und der Schweiz 1885
(source: www.biolib.de)

You might encounter an ash tree sporting dark purple, petalless female blossoms one year, only to find that it's donning drooping male blossoms the next: and a mixture of both the following year. How grand indeed! Although, somehow, I suspect that wasn't a mitigating factor when the purportedly prude Victorians assigned the ash blossom the connotation 'grandeur'.

Good for giving to: Transvestites, transsexuals, cross dressers and anyone with a grandiose sense of style.

Great ashes in literature: They certainly left an impression on one of the inhabitants of Sherwood Forest... or should that be the other way around?

'I have hit an ash twig at forty yards,' said Little John.
Robin Hood by J. Walker McSpadden

Find out more about The Daily Flower series and floriography.

Ash - The Daily Flower for 27 December

Waking from a slumber induced by the white poppy of 8 May, the dapper floriographer (who'd been modelling himself on a certain Mr De Quincey of late) was saddened to discover he'd missed the day of the snowball (his thoughts yesterday were most certainly not of heaven) and so, reaching over, plucked himself a bright red poppy and decreed it a 'consolation' (thinking no-one would notice that this red flower differed only in colour and not in species from the white Papaver somniferum and that the true nature of his consolation would thus go undetected).

Red poppy by SuperFantastic

Good for giving to: Those who came close, but got no cigar.

Not good for giving to: Remembrance day supporters; they prefer Papaver rhoeas, the red corn poppy.

Great red poppies in literature:

Poppies whose roots are in men's veins
Drop, and are ever dropping;
But mine in my ear is safe,
Just a little white with the dust.

From 'Break of Day in the Trenches' by Isaac Rosenberg

Cool red poppy links:

For humanitarian Pablo Neruda fans

Red Poppy - The Daily Flower for 10 May

Morphine, narcotine, codeine, thebaine, narceine, papaverine, codamine, roeadine. One wonders whether the white coat of a well-stocked chemist could boast this litany of chemicals, but there's no doubt that the white poppy does.

There's something slightly soporific about the list of alkaloids found in Papaver somniferum, and it's not just their somnolent sounds. This is indeed the opium poppy, which aptly connotes 'sleep' in floriography.

Papaver somniferum by Pablo Alberto Salguero Quiles

Wanting white flowers without the side effects? Our freesias, tulips and roses will do the trick.

Good for giving to: Those who would sleep perchance to dream. And peaceniks.

Great white poppies in literature: Dreamy, peaceful imagery from the haiku master Basho

On the white poppy,
a butterfly's torn wing
is a keepsake
From The Essential Basho trans. Sam Hamill

White Poppy - The Daily Flower for 8 May

Anyone who's more au fait with Rowling than Homer might think there was some uneven-handed dealings going on amongst the gods of ancient Greece. How, they may ask, did the lazy Bacchus score the vine, when the charming Aphrodite got lumbered with myrtle?

Myrtle, in Aphrodite's case, is a far cry from the moaning miss that wallows and wails in the washrooms of Hogwarts school. The goddess of love is associated not with Mlle communal ablution facilities, but with M. communis, the starry-flowered Mediterranean shrub.

Unlike the fictional character Myrtle, myrtle has a gorgeous myrrh-like perfume and is a floriographic cipher for 'heartfelt love'. And rather than a smooth head with two pigtails, the five-petalled inflorescences covered with dozens of stamens look more like their hair's standing on end. Well, if love is blind, heartfelt love is blinder still.

Flowers of Myrtle (Myrtus communis L.) emitted in second flowering by Giancarlo Dessì

Just in case you're still not convinced that the myrtle has more charms than the vine, consider that the Sardinians make an intoxicating drink from it that far outweighs the merits of wine.

Good for giving to: Not-so-secret pashes.

Great myrtle in literature:

Wreathed in myrtle, my sword I'll conceal
Like those champions devoted and brave,
When they plunged in the tyrant their steel,
And to Athens deliverance gave.

From 'Hymn To Aristogeiton and Harmodius' by Edgar Allan Poe (1827)

Myrtle - The Daily Flower for 4 May

Forget about gathering nuts in May; this is the month for gathering cinnamon - not the spice, though, but the rose.

Alas, those wanting to recapture the scent of Eastery hot-cross buns will have to get their olfactory fix elsewhere. Rosa cinnamomea (a.k.a R. majalis, or, in lay terms, the Cinnamon rose and May rose) is so called not because of its smell, but because of the colour of its stems.

But fear not, ye of sugary hankerings. The May rose may not be good enough to smell, but it's certainly good enough to eat. With petals that are used to pep up jam, there's little wonder that this pinky-purple beauty is said to connote 'vigour' in floriography.

Rosa majalis (Rosa cinnamomea) from Prof. Dr. Otto Wilhelm Thomé Flora von Deutschland, '-sterreich und der Schweiz 1885

Good for giving to: Anyone in need of a pick-me-up.

Great May roses in literature: We thought it didn't smell like cinnamon: and inspired vigour, not sighs:

The rare perfume of the cinnamon-rose,
The breath of all the garden grows;
The twitter of swallows, cooing of doves,
And alas! perhaps a sigh for dead-loves!

From 'Country Children' by Mary Tenney Gray

May Rose - The Daily Flower for 3 May

There must've been little difference between yesterday and today for Captain Floriography. There's certainly not much difference between the American starwort and the common chickweed.

Stellaria media by m-louis

On a connotative level, it's surprising that the 'welcome'-bidding Stellaria Americana of yesterday wasn't the flower for today, and that today's Stellaria media, which whispers 'Will you meet me?', wasn't given the May Day spot. Wouldn't you rather know that you'd be well received before you committed to getting together?

Well, since that's not possible, those who drop a sprig of chickweed through the letterbox of a would-be-lover and find themselves itching for the answer - and prickled by the prospect that the answer might be procacious - can find respite in rubbing the little white-flowered plant on their skin.

Good for giving to: Rendezvousers.

(Not-so-)Great chickweed in literature:

This naivete is the opening of the soul to the sun of chaos, and the soul may be open like a lily or a dandelion or a deadly nightshade or a rather paltry chickweed flower, and it will be poetry of its own sort. But open it must.

From 'Introduction to Harry Crosby's Chariot Of The Sun' by D.H. Lawrence

Chickweed - The Daily Flower for 2 May

Under the spotlights, under the flare
Of white starry petals, you know that you're there -
There where you're 'welcome' in suit or pyjama
'Cos that is the message of Stellaria americana.

Stellaria holostea by Nova (Stellaria americana all out being welcoming, alas).

Good for giving to: Good hosts. And nice guests.

American Starwort - The Daily Flower for 1 May

To the untrained ear, Anthoxanthum odoratum has the slightly repellent ring of a veterinary epidemic about it, but in truth the only people who should be turning up their noses are hayfever sufferers. The rest of us - beasts (especially bubulas ones) included - can smile benignly at this sweet-smelling yellow-flowered grass that's full of the joys of spring... and of buffaloes and vanilla, if we're to misconstrue its other common names.

Rather than smelling like beef or ice-cream, however, vernal grass has the distinctive scent of hay or freshly cut grass. Although, if you fancy bringing that scent indoors, you might do better to get a bunch of gerberas, which are also rich in coumarins, the source of the sumptuous smell.

Anthoxanthum odoratum (vernal grass) by James Lindsey

Good for giving to: People who're poor but happy, according to the floriographers.

Great vernal grass in literature:Allegedly about a lass in poor health (well, dead, to be precise)... but it's quite possible she was happy:

  O THOU! who sleep'st where hazle-bands entwine
The vernal grass, with paler violets drest;
I would, sweet maid! thy humble bed were mine,
And mine thy calm and enviable rest

From 'Sonnet XLIX'

Vernal Grass - The Daily Flower for 30 April

Danger! Danger! Hay voltage: Dick Valentine may have a bit of a funny way of pronouncing it, but of course he's singing about a lofty surge in electrical power, not the stuff that horses eat. But he'd have been onto something if he were: broken straw connotes 'Trouble! Trouble!' in floriography.

Technically speaking, hay is actually different to straw, the former being mown grass and the latter threshed grain. Or, in idiomatic terms, the former's what you make when the sun shines while the latter's what you clutch at when it doesn't. On a very bad day, that grasping results in you drawing the short straw, which is usually the last one. Trouble indeed.

Genuine Dorset straw by babbagecabbage

Good for giving to: People who're not very good at outwitting their opponents.

Great straw in literature:The trouble with the Scarecrow's affliction is a no-brainer:

'But I do not want people to call me a fool, and if my head stays stuffed with straw instead of with brains, as yours is, how am I ever to know anything?'

From The Wonderful Wizard of Oz by L. Frank Baum

Broken Straw - The Daily Flower for 27 April

Brides. Are they blushing, or pure, do you reckon? Or, more importantly, were they more wayward or wan in the Victorian era, when the language of flowers was at its heyday? This isn't a question of social mores, mind you, merely one of identification.

Nobody (well, if you consider Google to be everybody) seems to know to which rose the bridal rose refers. Some sources suggest it's a rather stately pink rose called Souvenir de la Malmaison, while others suggest any white roses will do. Rose is a rose is a rose and all that. Besides, the sentiment is what counts in the end, especially when the sentiment is 'happy love'.

Good for giving to: Brides, one would presume.

Great bridal roses in literature:

For their elder Sister's hair
Martha does a wreath prepare
Of bridal rose, ornate and gay:
To-morrow is the wedding day.
She is going

From 'She is Going' by Charles Lamb (1755-1834)

Bridal Rose - The Daily Flower for 26 April

You've heard that expression peachy keen? Well, if you ever find yourself feeling that way, but are a little shy of confessing in so many words, give the apple of your eye a sprig of peach blossoms, which connote 'I am yours' in floriography.

If that's a little too forthright still, start by giving them a peach. The fruit of Prunus persica, you see, implies unequaled qualities and charms. But then you'd have to wait almost a full year before the pretty pink spring blossoms were once again in bloom before you could deliver your true message. Carpe flora, we say. Especially if you're a constipated insomniac with worms.

Peach blossoms by mike warren

Good for giving to: Citizens of Delaware (it's their national flower) and coy misses and misters (see above).

Great peach blossoms in literature:

Seeing the blossoms of the peach tree
unfurling in the spring breeze,
all confusion is swept away
in the movements of the tangle
of branches and leaves

'Awake, Seeing the Peach Blossoms' by Zen Master Eihei Dogen (1200-1253)

Peach Blossom - The Daily Flower for 25 April

Whimsical, impulsive, quirky - you wouldn't expect less from a leggy lingerie model (although you should possibly expect more), but of an old rose? How Rosa moschata, the creamy white musk rose, came to connote caprice (with a lowercase c) is rather curious. Perhaps we should just put it down to the uncontrollable urge of a young floriographer. Well, the scent of musk (and the musk rose isn't called the musk rose for nothing) is, after all, said to be a bit of an aphrodisiac.

Rosa moschata by Pierre-Joseph Redouté (1759-1840)

Good for giving to: Supermodels and quacksalvers.

Great musk roses in literature: Pretty things have a history of being patronised, it seems:

'Here's the white musk rose, Mr. Betteredge - our old English rose holding up its head along with the best and the newest of them. Pretty dear!' says the Sergeant, fondling the Musk Rose with his lanky fingers, and speaking to it as if he was speaking to a child.

From The Moonstone by Wilkie Collins

Musk Rose - The Daily Flower for 24 April

A vaguely reputable weekend broadsheet (if memory serves me correctly) made reference to some research that suggested taller men with a good build were more likely to be rich and more likely to me married than shorter, weedier fellows. By all accounts, it's not just strapping lads that get what's considered 'all the luck' by the conservative Western eye: able-bodied arbours do, too.

Fagus sylvatica by antennae

Take the deciduous beech tree for example. It boasts smooth bark, a sturdy girth of up to 3m and can grow to almost 50m tall. What's more, it shuns the effeminate flower in favour of more manly catkins and cupules, the latter encased in tough bur armour. What a man! (Yawn.) Of course this tree could only have the positive connotation of 'prosperity' in floriography.

In fact, if people were trees the beech would be the perfect partner for the unimaginative heterosexual heroine with trophy-wife aspirations: perfect, that is, until he revealed that his name was Fagus.

Fagus sylvatica (Common or European Beech) from Koehler's Medicinal-Plants 1887

Good for giving to: Those in need of good fortune.

Great beeches in literature: A portent of robbing the rich and so becoming rich oneself?

So saying, Robin Hood stepped forth from the shade of the beech tree, crossed the stile, and stood in the middle of the road, with his hands on his hips, in the stranger's path.

From The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood by Howard Pyle

Beech - The Daily Flower for 11 April

Today's daily flower connotes secrecy in floriography. The first secret being that it isn't a flower at all. Like all ferns, maidenhair is a non-vascular, non-flowering, seedless plant - and here comes its second secret: maidenhair it may be, but maidenhead? Nope. Ferns have a full 5-phase lifecycle.

For something supposedly so secretive, there are a surprising number of maidenheads around - over 200 species, in fact. And they're not all small and shy, either; many ferns in the Adiantum (meanin, roughly, 'unwettable') genus are quite enormous.

True maidenhair, Adiantum Capillus-veneris, is purported to have a whole host of hidden medicinal properties to boot: from a hair tonic (must have been during the hey-day of correlative doctoring) to 'a remedy in pectoral complaints'. Do the remedies actually work? Well, that'd be telling, now, wouldn't it?

Adiantum capillus-veneris

Good for giving to: Tight-lipped, teflon-coated ticklethroats.

Great maidenhair in literature:

May, they told him, was in the dining-room inspecting the mound of Jacqueminot roses and maidenhair in the centre of the long table, and the placing of the Maillard bonbons in openwork silver baskets between the candelabra.

From 'The Age of Innocence'  by Edith Wharton

Maidenhair - The Daily Flower for 22 March

Magnificent beauty? Any plant flaunting such a floriographic connotation so brazenly is bound to be one with ideas above its station. And indeed that's the case of the callas, the (granted) not-half-bad-looking flowers in the Zantedeschia genus.

A calla lily arrangement at Serenata Flowers

These sneaky members of the family Araceae have wangled themselves into such gentrified locations as suburban homes and florists' shops simply by pretending to be something they're not: lilies. Zantedeschias are not true lilies, nor Arums, nor Callas, although they go by the common name of arum lilies, calla lilies and callas.

Perhaps we're being a bit tough on these African queens. They do have rather splendid spathes that curl in gorgeous yellows, purples and reds around the true flower. And although their species name is eponymously derived from a botanist, the common name calla could possibly come from the Greek word 'kallos', meaning beauty.

Good for giving to: Impressive imposters.

Great callas in literature:

The calla lilies are in bloom again. Such a strange flower,suitable to any occasion. I carried them on my wedding day,and now I place them here in memory of something that has died.
Katherine Hepburn as Terry Randall in the film Stage Door'(1937)

Calla - The Daily Flower for 28 February

If Taxus bacatta were indeed what it sounded like (a paladin of the Inland Revenue who's turned to drunken revellery), it would be easy to see how it connoted sadness. But, of course, it has nothing to do with government levies or Bacchanalian activities.

Taxus baccata

Taxus is the genus name of those evergreen conifers that have a penchant for mooching around graveyards: yew trees. Bacatta, the species epithet for the common or English yew, is derived from the Latin for berry-bearing, which indeed it is. Except that those in the know refer to the trees' bright red fleshy bits as arils, not berries. And good it would be to remember that, because those are the only non-toxic part of the plant.

Good for giving to: Antediluvian gloommongers (the yew is said to be at least 2,000 years old, and considered by some the oldest plant in Europe).

Great yews in literature:The jongleur trolls out his ballad, not sadly, but perhaps expressing a saddish sentiment?

What of the bow?
The bow was made in England:
Of true wood, of yew wood,
The wood of English bows;
So men who are free
Love the old yew tree
And the land where the yew tree grows.
From The White Company by Arthur Conan Doyle

Yew - The Daily Flower for 20 February

Thanks to Tina and Ike, most people have heard of Nutbush City, Tennessee. Somehow, the little town of Oak Leaf, Texas, (population 1,209 in the year 2000) didn't quite become the same kind of household name. Far better, it unwittingly became a gardenhold name.

Oak leaf by herschel_rubinstein

Named after the foliage of the noble Quercus tree, this little town must havequite a bit going for it. First off, the genus name Quercus is said tobe derived from the Celtic words quer (fine) and cuez (tree),suggesting more than a bit of alright. Secondly, oak leaves are said toconnote 'welcome' and 'bravery' in floriography, meaning a great publicperception of a conurbation of courageous and convivial citizens. And,thirdly, as anyone with a smidgen of military savoir-faire will know,an oak leaf cluster is a medallion of sorts that designates the wearerhas been awarded the honour more than once. Something to be proud of,indeed.

Good for giving to: Brave hosts.

Great oak leaves in literature: Welcoming, courageous or just plain helpful?:

The elements, however, abetted me in making a path through the deepest snow in the woods, for when I had once gone through the wind blew the oak leaves into my tracks, where they lodged, and by absorbing the rays of the sun melted the snow, and so not only made a my bed for my feet, but in the night their dark line was my guide.
From Walden & on the Duty of Civil Disobedience  by Henry David Thoreau

Oak Leaf - The Daily Flower for 24 January

Merriment. Silliness. Stupidity. Futility. Melancholy. Comforting. Consolation. It seems that the floriographers couldn't quite agree on the connotation of the scarlet geranium. Quite possible, that's because they couldn't quite agree on the species: the staining Pelargonium inquinans or the pinky-red geranium coccineum?

Scarlet geraniums by ms.Tea

Botanically, those authors of the Language of Flowers may have been in a bit of a muddle, but socially, they were spot on - if perhaps 170 or so years ahead of their time. Because the scarlet geranium is about as close as a flower can get to being a red ribbon, and its string of floriographic meanings gives us plenty of emotions to contemplate on 1 December, International World AIDS Day.

Contrary to popular belief, London Pride is not first and foremost a parade through Soho, nor is it a hearty ale (although, with synonyms such as St. Patrick's Cabbage, Prattling Parnell, Nancy Pretty and Kiss Me Quick, the mistake is easily enough made).

'London Pride' - Saxifraga umbrosa by bc anna

The original London Pride (it was known from the 17th century, so that seems a fair descriptor) is, admittedly, both as camp and as vigorous as its modern namesakes. After the Blitz, this glamorous pinkish polka-dotted charmer took it upon itself to beautify the bombsites where no other flora dared to tread.

Despite its star-shaped beauty and leading role in a Noël Coward song, the flower of Saxifraga umbrosa (or shade-loving rocksplitter) is often dismissed as an inferior inclusion in gardens and bouquets. Bah humbug, we say! Those detractors need to add a bit of playfulness to their day. But this debate could end up going around in circles, because the cure of such an ailment lies in London Pride itself: in floriography, the flower connotes frivolity.

Good for giving to: Lager louts and anyone who's playful, proud and unprejudiced.

Great London Prides in literature: There's a novel of this name, but the song by Noël Coward wins hands down:

'There's a little city flower every spring unfailing
Growing in the crevices by some London railing,
Though it has a Latin name, in town and country-side
We in England call it London Pride.'
London Pride (Listen to an mp3 of the song)

Exactly what constitutes a 'pink' in the world of flowers is about as clear cut as the zigzaggy petals of dianthus plumarius. While some people include close cousins Sweet Williams and carnations in their definition, pinks are actually a slightly different species, identifiable by their daintier flower heads and more delicate stems.

Surprisingly, pinks aren't actually named after their colour - they're named after their frilly edges: pinking shears are those dressmakers' scissors with v-shaped teeth on the blades. The colour pink, it turns out, is actually named after the plants (which, confusingly, are also sometimes red. Or white. Or varigated. Or with a darker centre and edging.)

Whatever colour they come in, pinks smell great. The potent clove aroma often lingers longer than that of the herb itself, possibly explaining why the flowers are said to mean 'I'll never forget you'.

Good for giving to: Tailors. And soldiers and sailors before they head off into the wild blue yonder. Tinkers will probably like them too, as will poor men, beggar men and thieves. Not so sure about the rich men, though.

  
Photograph by urban gardener Linda

Pinks - The Daily Flower for 1 July

Beauty is only skin deep, is it? You clearly don't know your potatoes.

Above ground, a gorgeously exotic blossom in luscious lilac with golden stamens, below, a hideous but nutritious tuber.

Potato flowers by Keith Weller.

So be wary of mashing your words when passing judgements about King Edward, Charlotte, Nicola and other Solanum tuberosum lovelies. You would be better off following the lead of the good people of Fort Fairfield, Maine, who hold the four-day Potato Blossom Festival. (Those less in thrall of starch might find the floriographic connotation of benevolence' to suffice.)

Good for giving to: Jersey royals.

Great potato blossoms in literature:

I ask you for white blossoms.
I offer you memories and people.
I offer you a fire zigzag over the green and marching vines.
I bring a concertina after supper under the home-like apple trees.
I make up songs about things to look at:
    potato blossoms in summer night mist filling the garden with white spots;
    a cavalryman's yellow silk handkerchief stuck in a flannel pocket over the left side of the shirt, over the ventricles of blood, over the pumps of the heart.

From 'Potato Blossom Songs and Jigs by Carl Sandburg

No, filbert is not a new addition to the white-collared anti-heroic clan that is Scott Adam's comic strip. Although it wouldn't be amiss if the cartoon ever resolved to a happy ending: for a filbert flower is in fact a blossom of Corylus maxima, the species of hazel that connotes reconciliation.

The catkins of Corylus maxima by TeunSpaansr

The flowering parts of the filbert are actually catkins (which means the flowers have no petals), and are either male (a buttery yellow) or female (bright red). Although they may resemble cats' tails, their 'gender-based' colouration makes them rather unlike cats at all - for a female gingery feline is quite a rare find.

Filbert would be a rather good name for a cat, come to think of it, but it was actually once the name of a saint - Saint Philibert, a monastery-founding abbot, whose feast day is on 20 August (why didn't the floriographers just switch this flower with meadow crowfoot?), which is apparently about when the nuts of the filbert tree are ready to eat. 

Good for giving to: Sulkypusses who need to be appeased.

Great filberts in literature: Empty handed again! Can you help with a poem about filbert, or a reference to it in a novel?

Not as proud as you are pretty - that's what they say petunias mean. But I'm not so sure. Perhaps there was a case for that connotation back in Victorian times, but, in the more recent annals of history, petunias have become the motif de rigeur for groups and individuals who, although far from epitomes of hubris, certainly have a high sense of self worth.

Without much effort, one can think of Petunia Pig (not very beautiful, and certainly too proud to return poor Porky's affections), Revolutionary Petunias ('resistence is fertile') and the Cult of the Rabid Petunias (OK, that last one took quite a bit of effort).

Petunias by byrdiegyrl

But, while self-importance may oftentimes be associated with petunias, there's no denying the flowers themselves are mighty fine specimens of prettiness.

These funnel-shaped South American natives (plundered from Argentina by arrogance himself, Napoleon, it seems) embrace colour like an addictive habit (a simile inspired by their close connections to the tobacco plant) and, as easy-to-grow flowers that bloom throughout the summer months, are pretty irresistible inclusions in gardens and window boxes.

Good for giving to: Ice queens with melted hearts.

Great petunias in literature: In this well-known ditty (original author remains a mystery), one wonders if it is pride or shyness that stops them from finding all the friends in life they'd like to?

I'm a lonely little petunia in an onion patch,
oh won't you come and play with me

I've got your picture of me and you
You wrote "I love you", I wrote "me too":
:I want a doctor to take your picture
So I can look at you from inside as well
You've got me turning up and turning down
And turning in and turning 'round

I'm turning Japanese
I think I'm turning Japanese
I really think so:

The more I hear that song, the more I suspect that the Vapors may secretly have been singing about Camelia japonica, the gorgeous Japanese native cultivated for its showy flowers and glossy leaves.

Why so? Well, there's more to it than the repeated references to the origin of today's flower's species epithet. Let's start at the beginning.

Whether red, pink, white or multi-coloured, japonicas are exceedingly beautiful; little wonder the persona in the song has their picture.

Camellia japonica by poesie

Then comes a line about shared love: in floriography, japonicas are said to connote excellence, but, in more modern times, they're displayed at Korean weddings to symbolise faithfulness.

Next, the singer longs to see his love from the inside, too. Given the multilayered petals of japonicas, and their striking yellow centres: well, it can't just be coincidence, can it?

Good for giving to: Contortionists. And Alabamans (camellia japonica is their state flower).

Great japonicas in literature: Nobody can help but remark on their excellence:

'She admires a flower (pink camellia japonica, price half-a-crown), in my button-hole.'
From David Copperfield by Charles Dickens

Below are three cardinals. See if you can work our which of the following bits of trivia relate to which cardinal:

Lobelia cardinalis by notafish

Cardinal bird by mikebrsm

Thomas Wolsey

1. Connections with the tobacco family
2. Can induce vomiting, cause pain and even sentence one to death
3. Known as the 'second king'
4. Known as America's Favourite
5. First spotted in Canada
6. Sport distinct scarlet 'plumage'
7. Connotes distinction and splendour
8. Sometimes called Indian Pink

Good for giving to: People who like red (anything more helpful would be too much of a hint to the answers).

Anyone who's ever played in a garden that was home to a rustic beauty from the Lonicera genus will know exactly how these flowers acquired their common name. Who indeed could resist snapping off the tubular petalled goblets and sipping the sweet nectar stored inside?

Honeysuckle IV by Scoobymoo

Whether golden, cherry blushing or ash pale, honeysuckle produces a sweet, summery scent that's rivaled only by the jasmine flower. Unlike jasmine, however, honeysuckle is more country charmer than exotic coquette. Appropriately, its floriographic meanings are a little less flirtatious than those of its 'extremeley amiable' friend - connoting devoted love, fidelity and fraternal love.

There are 180-odd species of honeysuckle (with such alluring names as wild woodbine, Serotina and Graham Thomas), many of which are excellent climbers that wrap masses of curling, golden-sheened blossoms so seductively around gazebos and trellises that Rapunzel would be obliged to blush in shame. Cooped up in that tower, it's likely the fairytale heroine didn't smell nearly as good, either.

Good for giving to: Loyal friends, committed lovers and wheezy acquaintances (the flowers can be used to treat respiratory ailments).

Great honeysuckles in literature: It's tricky to read a novel written more than fifty years ago without spotting the flowers framing a window or adorning a pergola:

'[She] sat herself down upon a stool beside the lattice, where the honeysuckle and woodbine entwined their tender stems, and stealing into the room filled it with their delicious breath.'
Charles Dickens, The Old Curiosity Shop

As befitting a plant named breath of heaven, today's flower has a veritable trinity of names, both botanical and everyday.

Older gardening testaments refer to this South African shrub as Coleonema pulchrum; newer ones call it Coleonema pulchellum. And then, confusingly, it's also sometimes dubbed Diosma pulchra.

Coleonema pulchellum (source: www.biolib.de)

It's not much simpler when it comes to the common names for the Rutaceae-family member. In some parts, it's known as breath of heaven, but don't be surprised to hear people referring to it as confetti bush or diosma (from the Greek 'divine': so holiness is in fact quite integral to it).

This thing for threes doesn't vanish when it comes to floriographic connotations, either. The spiky-leafed bush of (as the species epithet suggests) small and beautiful flowers has a trio of connotations: good for nothing, your simple elegance charms me, and usefulness.

Very confusing. But if you only remember one thing about this plant, make sure it's this: the delicious and distinctive scent.

Good for giving to: Every third person sounds about right.

Great breaths of heaven in popular culture: Somewhere near the second line, one gets the distinct impression that Amy Grant is not singing about the flower, but other literature was not forthcoming:

'Breath of heaven,
Hold me together,
Be forever near me,
Breath of heaven.
Breath of heaven,
Lighten my darkness,
Pour over me your holiness,
For you are holy.
Breath of heaven.'
From 'Breath of Heaven' on Home for Christmas (1992)

One has to wonder whether the Victorian floriographers were thinking of that old warning 'spare the rod and save the child' when they decreed that the Golden Rod connoted 'precaution' and 'encouragement'.

Perhaps they had it in mind that plumed, zigzag, velvety, stout or one of the other 100-odd species of golden rod would be used to make the yowling youngsters whole again, as the genus name Solidago hints at.

Golden rod by HK James Ho

In truth, golden rods have been shown to have some valuable medicinal properties. They are however, more of the 'reducing' than 'making whole' variety: particularly helpful as an anti-inflamatory and in cutting down calcium build-up in kidneys.

The more superstitious among us also believe that golden rods bring good luck, but when one's calamity-struck, it doesn't take much to twist a rubber arm into believing something will help.

It's rather unlikely, but that could have been just what happened to Henry Ford when he was in desperate need of some pneumatic inspiration. After all, the tyres of his famous Model T are made from golden rod rubber, which occurs naturally in the stems of these bright yellow flowers.

Send some solidago sprays in our Dozen Yellow Roses hand-tied bouquet

Good for giving to: Land-speed record holders, Kentucky women and Nebraskan men (golden rod is their state flower).

Great golden rods in literature: Pop literature, today, courtesy of Blondie:

'What's that pretty flower I see?
Tall and wild it waves at me
Mother says it's just a weed
Golden Rod, Golden Rod'
From 'Golden Rod' on The Curse of Blondie (2003)

Gorse (a.k.a furze) is the Jekyll and Hyde of the flower world. Except, it's a bit more complicated, because there are three characters at play: gorse also sometimes goes by the name of whin.

These three different common names perhaps account for gorse's three different meanings in the Language of flowers. Firstly, there's the Jekyllish connotation of 'endearing affection'; secondly, the Hyde-like 'anger'; and thirdly, a sort of resolution in the meaning 'love for all occasions'.

Ulex Europaeus by soapbeard

None of these meanings are very telling about the biological characteristics of the bright-yellow Ulex Europaeus, as gorse is more officially known. There's nothing that suggests the flower shape is a dead-givaway to gorse's pea-family background, or that gorse smells mysteriously of coconut, or even that it bears flowers almost all year around. But, after Robert Louis Stevenson uncovered the conundrum of those famed multiple personalities, the Victorian floriographers perhaps felt a need to introduce a little something to keep us guessing.

Good for giving to: Triplets.

Great gorses in literature: When it is good it is very, very good; but when it is bad, it is horrid.

'In the afternoon he walked about the common; and that is gray and dingy too; it is neither country nor town; the gorse is stunted; and all about is the litter of civilisation.'
From Of Human Bondage by W. Somerset Maugham

It'd be understandable if someone who was marooned was melancholy, but surely being maroon is no cause for miserableness? Not so for dark geraniums, who connote that sense of infinite sadness in floriography.

Geranium phaeum by TeunSpaans

'Real' geraniums - dark or otherwise - are in the Geranium genus of the Geraniaceae family, but bear a striking resemblance to the Pelargonium genus. Practiced gardeners tell them apart by their petals: real Geraniums (which are often dubbed cranesbills) have five petals of the same size, while Pelargoiums' petals can be separated into two upper ones and three lower ones.

But of all the dark geraniums, it would be most plausible that the Victorians were talking about Geranium phaeum, which is not only decidedly deep magenta, but also known as Mourning Widow.

Good for giving to: Anyone down in the dumps.

Great dark geraniums in literature: What a black mood Rod McKuen creates:

'Rimbaud's sister still keeps guard
over the evil plants and garden,
letting the rain
do most of the watering
letting the sun
do all the hard work.
Here is the dark geranium
and there is the twisted mum.'
From 'Rimbaud's Sister' in Intervals (1986)

A pumpkin? A squash? A cucumber? You'd be out of your gourd if you thought you could pin down exactly which member of the Cucurbitaceae family the Victorians were talking about when they assigned gourds the connotation 'unrequited affection'.

Bottle gourd flowers by Megapixel Eye

Although, considering that the connotation was changed in later years to 'bulkiness', it seems second-generation floriographers deemed the original authors of the language of flowers to be a bit off their pips (hopefully, they took after the food plant family in question, and were thick-skinned enough to deal with the fact that their fondness for the originally assigned meaning was unreciprocated).

Good for giving to: Chubby lovers who have been given the cold shoulder.

Great gourds in literature: This gourd queen is sure to be bulky, but she also seems much loved:

'Queen of the gourd-flower, queen of the harvest,
Sweet and omnipotent mother, O Earth!
Thine is the plentiful bosom that feeds us,
Thine is the womb where our riches have birth.'
From 'Harvest Hymn' by Sarojini Naidu

Forget carrots! There's another orangey delight to help you improve your eyesight. Well, assuming you're a bird of prey and you consider old wives' tales to be gospel. For, according to wisdom of yore, the feathery Accipiters used to chomp on the hairy weeds of the Hieracium genus to give themselves eagle eyes - hence the flowers' common name of hawkweed and their connotation of quick-sightedness.

Orange hawkweed by jhritz

As can be expected of a genus with over 200 species, variation is rife amongst hawkweeds, whose colours range from reds through oranges to yellows and even white. But it's their assorted names that are most interesting: Houndstongue, Cow, Longbeard, Devil's Paintbrush, Shaggy and Mousear conjure up some curious mental images. Not that hawkweeds are shy of unusual physical images either. On closer inspection, you'll notice that the strap-shaped petals are square- or notch-tipped and are actually complete flowers in themselves.

Good for giving to: Proofreaders and other pedants.

Great hawkweeds in literature: A strangely unsettling stanza that makes one wonder if the plant perhaps has other connotations:

'This is the kingdom that quickens and won't sleep;
the fierce ignited light of tenderness, unburied.
Tonight the moon will rise
full and white, like Medusa's murdered face.
But she will turn nothing to stone. I have my hawkweed in a bowl,
orange-red as Chinese silk, a fiery bridal veil, a vow.
It is this my eyes will close on.'
From 'Bridal Veil' by Laurie Sheck

As any fan of Toronto's hockey honchos will tell you, the most striking thing about Acers are their definitive palmate leaves. But these sports fanatics are perhaps too quick to forget that there's much more to the maple tree than its leaves.

Acer rubrum flowers

Acers - whose name is allegedly derived from the Latin word acris, meaning sharp (a purported reference to the fact that the Romans used the wood to make their spears) - are not only a delight to behold in their autumn leaf-coats, but also when they're in bloom.

The flowers usually appear in dense clusters, which helps to explain their one floriographic connotation of abundance. But what of the meanings 'you are hard', 'success' and 'reserve'? No doubt the ancient Romans, Leafs fans and singletons from Hogtown will have their own respective theories.

Good for giving to: Canadians.

Great acers in literature: Did the author see the maples in leaf or in bloom, one wonders:

'Although the evergreens still held dominion over many of the hills that rose on this side of the valley, yet the undulating outlines of the distant mountains, covered with forests of beech and maple, gave a relief to the eye, and the promise of a kinder soil.'
From The Pioneers by James Fenimore Cooper

If you're the type to be resting on your laurels (or even someone who's been awarded a baccalaureate, or (chances are slimmer, I know) is a poet laureate), isn't it about time you knew about your honour's namesake?

Laurus nobilis from Koehler's Medicinal-Plants 1887

Contrary to initial suspicions, those laurels don't refer to Godfathers of Ska, skinny comedians or old British money. They refer to Laurus nobilis, the aromatically leaved Mediterranean plant that bears clusters of tiny trophy-like pairs of golden flowers and connotes those winning attributes: magnificence, success and glory.

Good for giving to: Successmongers, newly-qualified doctors and anyone about to address an oracle.

Great bay laurels in literature: The god of prophecy and poetry makes his pick (but there is more to it than meets the eye, as his beloved Daphne was transformed into a laurel tree to escape his advances):

'Jupiter chose the oak, Venus the myrtle, Apollo the laurel, Cybele the pine, and Hercules the poplar.'
From Fables by Aesop

The poplar is a tree for the masses. Its botanical epithet is derived from the Latin for the people, allegedly in reference to the tree's numerous leaves, which, when blowing in the breeze, are said to resemble crowds.

As for Populus alba, the white poplar, its leaves are perhaps even more akin to the masses. For starters, they're very two-dimensional (more physiologically than psychologically, but perhaps suitably metaphorically), and secondly they're very two-sided (definitely in the metaphorical sense this time): the top surface of the leaf is a dark green, and the underside a striking white. What's more, if you preserve the leaves in glycerine, the white stays white, but the green turns to black - a rather apt representation of the diametrical character of a mob.

Populus alba leaves

As all good capitalists know, masses equal labour, and labour equals money. Now, hold that idea, and perform a little equation with another old chestnut: time equals money. Which means leaves equal masses equal money equals time. Et voila! We arrive at the floriographic connotation for the white poplar.

Ahh, floriographic, you say. So, shouldn't we be talking about the flowers of the white poplar? Well, if truth be told, the leaves are far more interesting that the poplar's catkins. All that's really worth remarking about those is that the male poplar's are reddish and the female's are kind of greeny-yellow. Nice enough, but the leaves are certainly more interesting!

Good for giving to: Herd followers and fans of Heiddeger or Hawking.

Great white poplars in literature: Oscar Wilde's aptly named Bianca uses them as  a point of comparison:

'His hands Whiter than poplar leaves in windy springs, Shake with some palsy; and his stammering mouth Blurts out a foolish froth of empty words Like water from a conduit.'
From A Florentine Tragedy

Picture a trio of star-like belles in white, pink and red who symbolise ambition. Are you thinking Charlie's Angels? You'd be right - but don't discount mountain laurels as equally apt contenders for this crown.

Kalmia latifolia. Source: www.biolib.de

Like the angels, the all-American Kalmia latifolias are also mistresses of disguise, who travel by such enigmatic monikers as calico bushes, lambkills, clamoun and spoonwood. And they can be equally deadly if you try to eat them. But treat them right, and their gorgeous little inch-wide blossoms will give you infinite pleasure.

Good for giving to: Connecticutians (it's their national flower) and kick-ass chicks.

Great mountain laurels in literature: Perhaps it should have been Tenacious D instead of Destiny's Child that sang the theme tune for Charlie's Angels:

'The mountain-laurel clung to the bleak hillside, careless of wintry wind and snow [:] its evergreen leaves for Christmas cheer, its rosy flowers for spring-time, its fresh beauty free to all as it clothed the wild valley with a charm that made a little poem of the lovely spot where the pines whispered [:]'
From A Garland for Girls by Louisa May Alcott

Let me introduce you to the prima donna of the plant world. Dear Laurestine here is the queen of melodrama, who, on a good day, connotes 'a token'. When she's in one of her moods, however, she declares 'I die if neglected'.

Viburnum Tinus

Of course, she's a lot hardier than all that. Her birth certificate is the tell-tale sign: Viburnum Tinus, a robust Mediterranean shrub that flowers during the chills of winter (or should that be during the winter of her discontents?).   

The clusters of dainty pink flower buds that blossom into little white stars are Laurestine's costume jewellery that detract from her leathery leaves. Well, good on her for trying to make the most of her assets. If only she'd not been quite so heavy-handed with her cheap perfume!

Good for giving to: Gaudy drama queens.

Great Laurestines in literature: James Montgomery was certainly more susceptible to her charms:

'Be thou an emblem - thus unfolding
The history of that maiden's mind,
Whose eye, these humble lines beholding,
In them her future lot may find:
Through life's mutations may she be
A modest evergreen like thee;
Though bless'd in youth, in age more bless'd,
Still be her latest days the best.'
From 'The Laurustinus'

Err, isn't mignonette a sauce you douse your oysters in? Or a cute little French girl? Flowerphiles would argue that you're closer with the second guess: mignonette is, in fact, a dainty native of the Mediterranean region - but a hermaphroditic, green and somewhat spiky one.

Referred to as Reseda luteola in botany circles (and called Bastard Rocket or Weld behind its back), mignonette is more often grown for dye-makers than for florists.

The chartreuse stems are about a metre tall, topped with a willowy spike of tiny greenish-yellow or white flowers. Fortunately, the plant boasts a heavenly scent that more than makes up for its unremarkable looks. In floriography, mignonette is said to mean 'you are better than handsome' - which must have been a Victorian euphemism for 'you're ugly, but you smell nice'.

Good for giving to: People who can't get hold of Otoko Kaoro, unsightly relatives and anyone with an appreciative nose.

Hound dogs and hangdogs are tight bound with heavy-heartedness, but those fine lupine creatures? How did the Victorian floriographers come to associate them with dejectedness?

The conundrum promises to unravel a little when we discover that those who composed in the language of flowers were referring not to Canis lupus, but to the lupinus genus, those upstanding members of the Fabaceae family. But again, puzzlement: the upright clusters of boldly coloured flowers (not to mention the silver-furred palmate leaves) look far from glum.

Lupinus polyphillus by Zanastardust (Rosana Prada)

What's more, lupines (or lupins, as they're called east of the Atlantic) have made quite an impression on popular culture - little surprise, given their Mangaesque angles, that there's an anime character called Lupin the Third.

Good for giving to: Gentleman thieves with a glint in their eyes (oh, yes, and there's the dejected bit, so those without a glint as well).

Great lupines in literature: Not quite howling under Jack London's The Valley of the Moon, but perhaps stealing through the wood:

'Dropping down through the pungent pines, they passed woods-embowered cottages, quaint and rustic, of artists and writers, and went on across wind-blown rolling sandhills held to place by sturdy lupine and nodding with pale California poppies.'

Many people who state that their favorite flower is not the rose choose, instead, the carnation. Carnations are extremely versatile flowers that come in a variety of colors and styles. In fact, they have been a part of history and even mythology for over 2,000 years.

The color symbolization of carnations are very similar to those of roses. White carnations symbolize good luck, as well as purity and love. Light red or pink carnations show affection and love, while darker reds show passion and a deeper love.

Carnations are used in many different types of surroundings. Mother's Day is one of the most popular times for carnations to be widely used. They are also used in weddings almost as much as roses are.

Like roses and other versatile flowers, the carnation can be paired with almost any other form of flower or greenery. Mixing and matching carnations with other items can make for a gorgeous bouquet fit for any occasion.

Not only are carnations frequently used for weddings, they are also very common for sympathy bouquets and at funerals. Part of the reasoning for this is because these flowers are able to be dyed even more colors than they come in. Blue has been known as a mourning color, and used frequently at funerals, but there are very few flowers that actually come in blue shades. Being able to easily dye the carnation makes the flower very valuable to those that do flower arrangements, simply because they can be made for any and almost all color schemes.

Today, because of mixed breeding of the flowers, you can frequently find them with different patterns, which can add to their beauty. For example, you have probably seen a candy stripe carnation. These are carnations that have red and white stripes on them, and look almost like a candy cane pattern.

Since carnations are extremely versatile, they are also very popular. No matter what kind of flower arrangement you are getting, it is highly likely that it may have some carnations in it. They are also very popular to give individually, to show love, appreciation, or respect. These flowers rank very high in the list of most well liked flowers in the world. Because of this, they are very easy to get hold of, all year long. They are also fairly easy to grow. You can't go wrong with a carnation, just as you can't go wrong with a rose.

Vegetarians, look away now. The mountain ash is the deerstalkers' tree. Symbolising quiet (that essential quality in any huntsman), Sorbus aucuparia is a little deciduous tree best known for the edible red berries it produces - the must-have ingredient in rowan jelly, condiment of choice for game dishes.

Mountain ash flower clusters by schmatzi

Like many gun-toters, mountain ashes (or rowans, as they're often called) aren't all machismo, they've got a softer side, too: they're members of the rose family. The flowers aren't quite as glamorous or feminine as those traditional symbols of romance, but the little clusters of white blossoms are pretty enough in their own right.

Good for giving to: Silent riflers.

Great mountain ashes in literature: Ms Wharton uses their floriographic connotation to add to the ambience:

'Once, in the stillness, the call of a bird in a mountain ash was so like her laughter that his heart tightened and then grew large; and all these things made him see that something must be done at once.'
From Ethan Frome by Edith Wharton

What defines patriotism these days? Is it a case of believing in your country even if you're having your nose pulled by your leaders? If it is, then the nasturtium was a most apt choice as the symbol of patriotism in floriography.

Nasturtium by cobalt123

How so, you ask? Well, the name for these fiery-petalled flowers from the Tropaeolum genus translates roughly as 'nose twister' - most likely in reference to their pungent juice, an attribute that makes them a great salad ingredient.

Good for giving to: Nationalists.

Great nasturtiums in literature: Perhaps more like politicians than we give them credit for:

'The nasturtiums are to be of every sort and shade, and are to climb and creep and grow in bushes, and show their lovely flowers and leaves to the best advantage.'
From Elizabeth and her German Garden by Elizabeth Von Arnim

You'd expect something a little devilish for the Hallowe'en flower, but Urtica dioica, the common or stinging nettle, is definitely more trick than treat. Little wonder, then, that it symbolises cruelty in floriography.

Urtica dioica by Michael Gasperl (Migas)

The flower of the common nettle is capable of producing a treat, however - assuming you like herbal infusions. If not, you're out of luck, as the little inflorescences are not exactly great beauties.

Good for giving to: Brutal brewers.

Great nettles in literature: How spooky... they have the power to raise people from the dead:

'Then he shot the arrow and fell back and would have died, but he lit on a nettle and sprang up too gaily for a corpse.'
From Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain

Mercurial and untrue - who would have thought it of the tasty herb Petroselinum, adder of flavour to fish, treater of tabbouleh-eaters' taste buds, and, most importantly, inducer of gratitude in friends of garlic munchers?

Petroselinum neapolitanum by Howard Cheng

Despite its many munificent properties, the chlorophyll-rich parsley plant is accorded the meaning of 'fickleness' in floriography. Or perhaps it's because of those properties: the etymology of parsley's botanical name (roughly, rock celery), suggests our forefathers confused it for something it wasn't.

Good for giving to: Friends who take precautions against vampires. Especially ones who say they don't, but actually do.

Great parsley in literature: It plumbs moral depths in floriography, but more physical ones in fiction:

'You will remember, Watson, how the dreadful business of the Abernetty family was first brought to my notice by the depth which the parsley had sunk into the butter upon a hot day.'
From 'The Return of Sherlock Holmes' by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

Parti-coloured prettiness and a mild, spicy scent defines the garnet-striped Rosa gallica versicolour - but don't be fooled into thinking this is a totally innocent flower. Yes, the Victorians assigned Rosa mundi the connotation 'you are merry' and 'variety', but, one must ask, after whom was this old rose beauty named?

Rosa gallica versicolour by Kurt Stueber (Rosa mundi)

Numerous sources suggest this semi-double-petalled white with its splashes of crimson and candy stripes was named after the beautiful Rosamund Clifford, who spent her days (and most probably nights) entertaining the already-wed Henry II. Fair she may have been, but worldly, too, if her tombstone inscription is not interpreted as mere slander.

Good for giving to: Uncoy mistresses.

If the Victorian floriographers are to be believed, never a wealthy coeliac there will be. To them, wheat connotes 'you will be rich'.

Wheat by Very Good with Computers

Wheat, a.k.a. Triticum, is a grass better known as a key ingredient in pasta and vodka that as a plant that bears a remarkable flower - most probably because its flowers are rather unremarkable. Far more remarkable is the evidence that suggests this cereal has been around since 6,000 B.C., so don't let looks deceive you.

Good for giving to: Paupers with prospects. And Estonians.

Luxury! Sheer luxury! That's hardly an image muddy British schoolboys evoke when they emerge, battle victorious, from the playground. But, then again, they've been bandying about the seeds of the horse chestnut tree, not the flowers.

Horse chestnut flowers by Reijii

Conkers aren't lavish items by any means, but the flowers of Aesculus hippocastanum are hardly the epitome of opulence, either. Perhaps it's the small red dot on the sheer white blossoms, a bit like a sold sticker below an artwork in a fancy gallery, that inspired the Victorian floriographers - anachronisms and all that aside.

Although, seeing that the panicles of blossoms are used to create a Bach flower remedy that banishes unwanted thoughts and mental arguments, the floral connotation could be referring to the most desireably deluxe state of mind.

Good for giving to: Posh schoolboys with muddled minds.

Great horse chestnut flowers in literature: A deluxe description from Ms Montgomery:

'Girls, sometimes I feel as if those exams meant everything, but when I look at the big buds swelling on those chestnut trees and the misty blue air at the end of the streets they don't seem half so important.'
From Anne of Green Gables

This little mint family member, Cedronella canariensis, looks nothing like either a cedar or a canary.

Cedronella canariensis by Stan Shebs

The flowers do appear in clusters that could be described as cone-like, but their delicate lilac, pinkish or white petals are a far cry from songbird yellow. Rather, cedronella refers to the cedar-like scent of the plant, and canariensis alludes to one of the geographic locations where the flower can be found.

Balm of Gilead's lovely scent makes it a popular ingredient in pot-porri - indeed, the menthol aroma is probably what inspired people to use it to treat coughs. With this medicinal heritage, it's no surprise that floriographers considered the flower a symbol of relief.

Good for giving to: Smokers of menthol cigarettes.

Great Balm of Gileads in literature: Mark Twain finds them a useful analogy:

'She gathered together her quack periodicals and her quack medicines, and thus armed with death, went about on her pale horse, metaphorically speaking, with 'hell following after.' But she never suspected that she was not an angel of healing and the balm of Gilead in disguise, to the suffering neighbors.'
From Tom Sawyer

Monkshood, Friar's Cap, Friar's Cowl, Helmet Flower, Soldier's Helmet, Auld Wife's Huid - Aconitum napellus is certainly a very heady flower. And not just in name and appearance, but in nature.

Aconitum napellus by Stan Shebs

With a hat-like shape created by an overhanging upper sepal, this little turnip of unconquerable poison, as the botanical name roughly translates, is indeed highly toxic. It was allegedly used to poison predatory beasts (including human ones), which gave rise to such other synonyms as wolfsbane, and indubitably informed the floriographic connotations of danger, misanthropy and the presence of a deadly foe.

Curiously, the Victorians also conferred the almost contradictory connotations of chivalry and gallantry on the clusters of these deep violet flowers from the buttercup family. Hmmm, was this because of their shape, or because poisoning people was considered somehow valiant?

Good for giving to: malicious milliners.

Great monkshoods in literature: Hats off to the inimitable modernist writer for combining all aspects of the flower's headiness in this description:

'The Queen's Hotel, Ennis, county Clare, where Rudolph Bloom (Rudolf Virag) died on the evening of the 27 June 1886, at some hour unstated, in consequence of an overdose of monkshood (aconite) selfadministered in the form of a neuralgic liniment composed of 2 parts of aconite liniment to 1 of chloroform liniment (purchased by him at 10.20 a.m. on the morning of 27 June 1886 at the medical hall of Francis Dennehy, 17 Church street, Ennis) after having, though not in consequence of having, purchased at 3.15 p.m. on the afternoon of 27 June 1886 a new boater straw hat, extra smart (after having, though not in consequence of having, purchased at the hour and in the place aforesaid, the toxin aforesaid), at the general drapery store of James Cullen, 4 Main street, Ennis.'
From Ulysses by James Joyce

Anyone who wields a brush with artistic intent will be familiar with today's flower. Madder is a colour favoured by painters of men who've been drinking or arguing - kind of burst-corpuscle red. But those hog-hair honchos may be surprised to see that the madder flower is in fact yellow.

Rubia tinctorum from Koehler's Medicinal-Plants 1887

It's the root of rubia tinctorum that's used to make the red dye described in its botanical name. The star-shaped flowers are a little like burst blood vessels, though, in their smallness (just a few millimetres across) if not their colour. And their floriographic meaning also corroborates - what better temper raiser than slander?

Good for giving to: Gossipmongers.

Great madders in literature: We couldn't find any, but please let us know if we're useless at sleuthing.

What do Napoleon's hat, Dresden dolls and Goethe have in common? They're all covered in moss.

While this may be true of the original artifacts just mentioned, it's not entirely the case of the rose cultivars which bear their names. The buds and stems of moss roses certainly appear to be covered in musci, but the truth is that the little spore-like tufts are actually a glandular mutation.

Delicacy by cobalt123

The moss rose is a good sport about it, though - sport being rose parlance for an offshoot of a parent plant. But there'd really be no need for the moss rose to complain. Its lineage reveals close ties with the hundred-leaved centifolias and heavenly scented damask roses, so good genes and desirable traits were most assuredly passed down. No wonder the moss rose stands for superior merit in floriography.

Good for giving to: Gifted children.

Great moss roses in literature: At the centre of a high-level floral debate in Wilkie Collins' The Moonstone:

'As far as I could understand it, the question between them was, whether the white moss rose did, or did not, require to be budded on the dog-rose to make it grow well.'

Too young to marry, the white rose bud means; too many to mention the flower fan screams. From Atomics to Zeiss White Polies, there are probably almost as many cultivars of white roses as there are underage brides. But the one that stands out as the most perfectly white is the Avalanche rose.

Mass of white Avalanche roses from serenata Flowers

Ice white and boasting a high count of glacial petals, Rosa floribunda 'Avalanche' is named for its snowy resemblance - although the overwhelming tumbling of pure emotions experienced by recipients is fast becoming a folkloric alternative to this etymology.

Despite its lengthy vase life and large, many-petalled infloresence (which, in some big-headed, full-bloomed blossoms can apparently reach up to 15 cm across), Avalanche roses are only mildly scented, which is quite curious considering that the sweet-scented tea rose is not too distant a relative.

Good for giving to: Teenage fiancées.

Brazilians have got rhythm. And I don't just mean the people. Mimosa pudica may translate as a bashful mimic, but on the grassy dancefloor it's a different story.

Sleeping grass by eye of einstein (Alan L)

A change in the weather, a sudden breeze, a naked flame, the onset of the evening - almost any excuse will do for Sensitive Plant to shake its fern-like leafy booty (or enagage in thigmonasty and seismonasty, if you prefer more technical terms). Even just a gentle poke in the pinnules will cause the leaflets to fold inward and wiggle down, putting many a passista to shame.

Admittedly, the Sensitive Plant's leaves take a little longer to reverse the conga-line - anything from a thirty minutes to all night, which could explain why it's sometimes called Sleeping Grass, or why the flower stands for despondency in floriography.

Although the pink pom-pom floret is more of a wallflower than the boogielicious leaves, it's quite a looker, and keeps in the spirit of things with a carnivalesque headdress of hundreds of inch-long lavender filaments tipped with bright red. But looking so spiffing is tiring work, so you won't see this puffball beauty hanging around for longer than a day.

Good for giving to: Anybody unhappy about being overly hirsute (Sensitive Plant contains mimosene, a substance purported to induce hairloss in mammals).

Great Sensitive Plants in literature Shelley saw fit to compose a whole ode on the mysterious ways in which Sensitive Plant moves:

A Sensitive Plant in a garden grew,
And the young winds fed it with silver dew,
And it opened its fan-like leaves to the light.
And closed them beneath the kisses of Night.
From 'The Sensitive Plant'

Wouldn't you be confident if you were as charming as the beautiful blue hepatica with its striking white stamens?

Hepatica nobilis by color line

Even the pink and the pure white hepatica nobilis flowers have an air of dignified self-assurance. They may be small at only three quarters of an inch in diameter, but they look quite striking indeed: each hairy stem of this buttercup family plant holds a single, proud flower head.

Not everyone found hepatica flowers so attractive, however. Someone long ago thought little enough of their beauty to mash them up. But perhaps this person just wanted to prove that hepaticas were useful as well as beautiful; they succeeded: the flowers work very effectively as an astringent.

Good for giving to: People with poise (and an acerbic tongue).

Sunshine yellows are usually associated with happiness, so it seems strange that this bright-rayed member of the daisy family is so intimately connected with sadness - not just floriographically, but botanically.

Helenium autumnale (Asteraceae) by Kabir Bakie

Helenium autumnale was named after Helen of Troy, from whose tears these vivid flowers with their three-lobed petals and spherical golden or burnt umber disc are said to have grown. Unlike Helen, however, helenium is a native of the new world, where it's also known (rather unsurprisingly) as Helen's flower and (slightly more imaginatively) dogtooth daisy.

Whether in typical yellow or the more unusual red, orange, or maroon, helenium petals can be made into a snuff that's purported to relieve colds. The sniffles it causes have earned the flower yet another nickname: sneezeweed. Perhaps Linnaeus got it wrong - Helen wasn't really lachrymose, her eyes were just watering from inhaling too much snuff.

Good for giving to: Dry-eyed heartbreakers.

Earth Smoke, Vapor, Beggary, Fumus, Wax Dolls - the list of synonyms for fumitory sounds like the line-up for a Scandinavian rock fest.

Common fumitory by Bill Tyne

From a distance, the world looks blue and green:  no, hold on, that's not very rock 'n' roll is it? Hardcore or not, the leaves of Fumaria officinalis, however, do appear blue and green. But in a rather cool, power-chorded smoke-machine effect kind of way, hence the herb's hazier common names.   

Unlike the leaves, the flowers of the fumitory plant are less metal and more prog,  or, if you prefer, bright-lipsticked groupies to the guitar slashin' leaves. Racemes of up to 50 little doll-like flowers - tubular, spurred and with deep purple tips - dance off the stems.

It's easy to imagine how a Rolling Stones concert would discomfort the Victorians, and from there, it's not difficult to arrive at their floriographic association for the fumitory flower: ill at ease. The Irish were a little less skeptical than their English neighbours though, and, according to folklore, polishing your shoes regularly with fumitory would bring you the rub of the green in pecuniary matters.

Good for giving to: Edgy metalheads with empty pockets.

Great fumitories in literature: Was John Clare talking about their money magnetism, or that other myth, in which fumitory is said to ward off evil spirits?:

'And fumitory too a name
That superstition holds to fame
Whose red and purple mottled flowers
Are cropt by maids in weeding hours.'
From 'May'

Digitalis purpurea may sound like a cat's calculator, but it's not - it's a foxglove.

Beehotel by Andrew Eason

Digital here isn't describing a unitary mathematical process, but adigit; foxgloves' botanical name makes reference to the fact that theslender corolla resembles a finger. And purpurea, of course, isn't anonomatopoeic adjective for the sound of a contented feline, but thecolour purple.

Some foxglove cultivars do come in other hues, but the common foxglove flower is predominantly a deep mauve colour. The bell-like blossoms with their distinguishing freckled throats grow almost horizontally off spikes that can reach up to two metres above the ground. 

Digitalis also has its very own digitoxins, which may sound fancy, but are highly poisonous to humans. Although, ironically, these same noxious chemicals can save lives - in very exact quantities, they can be used as a cardiac stimulant. Perhaps the foxglove's vacillation between a Dr Crippen and a Dr Barnard personality is what inspired its floriograhic meaning, insincerity.

Good for giving to: Anyone who gets your pulse racing (or stops it in its tracks).

Great foxgloves in literature: Carroll's characters are fans of these flower bells:

'Standing on one side of the stage, and partly overshadowing it, was a tall foxglove, which seemed, as the evening breeze gently swayed it hither and thither, to offer exactly the sort of accommodation that the orator desired.'
From Sylvie and Bruno by Lewis Carroll

If gardens were stages and flowers were actors, Flower-of-an-Hour would be a cameo debutante prone to getting a louder applause than the play's heroine.

Hibiscus trionum by Bogdan Giu

Flirting briefly in the sunlight, vanishing, then appearing again - throughout summer, Hibiscus trionum produces numerous beautiful flowers in cream five-petalled frocks, complete with wine-stained throats, that blossom briefly, and then fade, as the common name suggests.

The little two-inch flowers are diuretics (perhaps Flower-of-an-Hours keep dashing off to powder their noses?), but it's more likely that it was their transient lifespan that inspired their floriographic connotation of frailty.

Good for giving to: Tempranillo tipplers who can't turn off the taps.

Flax, common flax, linseed, Linum usitatissimum - call it what you will, this is one smart plant. No wonder its flower stands for genius.

Flax flower by Hans Splinter

The little pale blue flowers may only ever reach a few centimeters across, but petal size is by no means the plant equivalent of brain size in mammals (dolphins excluded).

Despite the stature of its frilly bits, the flax plant is incredibly industrious, producing oils rich in omega-3s and a fibrous substance that can be made into linen. What's more, as a flower essence, flax helps to dispel those niggling worries about what tomorrow may bring.

Good for giving to: Worrywarts and wiseacres.

Great flax in literature: Only Seamus Heaney could belittle their brilliance quite like this:

'All year the flax-dam festered in the heart
Of the townland; green and heavy headed
Flax had rotted there, weighted down by huge sods.'
From 'Death of a Naturalist'

Nature's full of things that aren't always what they seem, and the flowering reed is a prime example.

This tropical exotic native to the Americas is more commonly called a Canna lily - but it's actually a lily imposter. And look at those gorgeous flowers crowning the broad-leaved long stems, showy as gladioli - but their shared lineage doesn't go further than their scientific class.

Canna lily by Vivek

If you're seeking a close relative of Canna orientalis, you're better off looking in your fruitbowl. Acccording to Mouse and Garden, cannas have strong ties to bananas. You certainly wouldn't say so from glancing at a flowering reed - unlike some other cannas, which come in a range of fiery shades, including yellow, today's flower is distinguished by its red blossoms.

At a push, one could find parallels in the black seeds sported by both the canna and the banana. Admittedly, however, the banana's don't warrant a comparison with buckshot pellets, while the canna's do, to the extent that the plant is sometimes called Indian shot.

To find the real connection, you don't need to have 'confidence in heaven' (the flowering reed's floriographic connotation), just a bit of botanical knowledge: both the banana and the canna are in the class Liliopsida and of the order Zingiberales.

Good for giving to: Doubting Thomases and cheeky monkeys.

Great flowering reeds in literature: Quite a hero in Egyptian hieroglyphics, listedt by Aristotle, and noted in rhyme by Swinburne

'No lovelier laughed the garden which receives
Yet, and yet hides not from our following eyes
With soft rose-laurels and low strawberry-leaves,
Ternissa, sweet as April-coloured skies,
Bowed like a flowering reed when May's wind heaves
The reed-bed that the stream kisses and sighs.'
From 'Song for the Centenary of Walter Savage Landor' in Studies in Song

Seaside town inhabitants must wonder about the sanity of Wordsworth, composer of an ode in which 'the fair periwinkle trailed its wreaths'. Was old Will a supreme anthropomorphiser with a soft spot for bereaved sea snails?

Rumours of that kind can be incredibly damaging to a poet's reputation, so it's just as well there are numerous landlubbers who can set the record straight: England's great Romantic penman wasn't ululating about Littorina littorea, but about vinca minor.

Vinca minor vine - Periwinkle  by bc anna

After too much of the captain's rum, the coastal crew could be forgiven for mistaking the periwinkle mollusc for the periwinkle flower. Five petals fusing to form a slender tube could be said to look a little like a fleshy foot emerging from a conical shell - albeit that the flowers are the colour of the evening sky.

The trailing about which Wordsworth was waxing lyrical is the propensity the periwinkle plant's stems have for spreading, a characteristic noted by the botanical name, which is derived from the Latin vincio, 'to bind'.

But was it Wordsworth's passion for the periwinkle that led to its floriographic connotation of first love? While that's a suitably romantic notion to entertain, it's far more likely that this association comes from the fact that the flower was a popular ingredient in love potions - a heritage hinted at in the French name for the flower: 'violette des sorciers'.

Good for giving to: Budding sweethearts, salty old sea dogs and poet laureates.

Great periwinkles in literature: If you thought Wordsworth was weird, try O. Henry:

'And now the dark-haired young man spoke to me, and it became evident that his mind also moved along its own set of grooves.

'I should like to be a periwinkle,' said he, mysteriously, 'on the top of a valley, and sing tooralloo-ralloo.''

From 'A Cosmopolite In A Café'  in The Four Million

The pear blossom is a flower to be regarded with suspicion. Sure, the rounded, holier-than-thou whiteness and petite stature of the five-petalled flowers on a Pyrus tree seem to put them above suspicion, but mark those dark-anthered stamens and yellowing throats: there's something fishy going on.

Bradford Pears in Spring by Jason Presser

Quite literally something fishy in the case of the Bradford pear blossom, which reeks of rotting river inhabitants. A word of warning, then, to anyone who purchases perfumes that purport to be plumped up with pear blossoms - exactly what type of pear blossom has been used?

Despite this affectation, the pear blossom stands for affection in floriography. What's more, it's considered a symbol of purity and connotes health and hope. In the East, the pear blossom is the symbol of the 8th month, and represents wise and benevolent administration. With such positive associations, it's no surprise that the Pear Blossom badge was the symbol of Worcestershire worn by Yeomen in the Boer War and the First World War.

Good for giving to: Anosmiacs.

Great pear blossoms in literature: Laura abandons the usual orange blossoms in favour of pears - for their symbolism or their scent, one wonders:

'Many of the women blushed for what they knew, others were crying, as if for some tragedy at which they had but lately assisted in a theatre, and a few criticized the bride for carrying a sheaf of pear-blossom, which was original, to say the least.'
Voss by Patrick White

Classics scholars with no knowledge of flowers would be forgiven for thinking that Orchis papilionaceae was a blue movie for lepidopterists. Certainly, the Aristotelian disciple Theophrastus must have enjoyed a little smirk when he named the orchid after its testicle-resembling root system. But you can do those sorts of things with impunity when you're the father figure of botany and ecology.

Pink butterfly orchid by Alastair Rae

The papilionaceae aspect of the butterfly orchis doesn't involve digging the dirt to discover. Despite their sometimes unpleasant scent, the showy, fan-shaped bright pink or purple patterned flowers of this Mediterranean plant boast a full 'lip' that is rather reminiscent of a fluttery insect. They're certainly rather jolly - possibly why floriographers associate them with gaiety.

Good for giving to: Socialites and sprightly types.

Great butterfly orchises in literature: A ramble from Nabakov is surely worth a few points:

''I can add,' said the girl, 'that the petal belongs to the common Butterfly Orchis; that my mother was even crazier than her sister; and that the paper flower so cavalierly dismissed is a perfectly recognizable reproduction of an early-spring sanicle that I saw in profusion on hills in coastal California last February.''
Ada or Ardor: A Family Chronicle

A rough-throated blue sounds far more like a lizard than a flower - and certainly not like anything that's shorthand for neglected beauty. But friends of the throatwort trachelium caeruleum know better.

Balmy pink roses flirt brilliantly with clusters of trachelium and dusky eucalyptus leaves

The common name of this Campanulaceae family member suggests that the flower has an abundance of bronchial benefits, but the mild-scented umbrella flower is all bark and no bite. Speculators claim that the rumours were started by a phenomenon of corolla correlation: to quacksalvers of yore, the outer whorls of blue throatwort looked rather like human throats.

Nowdays, blue throatwort is more commonly found in floral arrangements than medicine cabinets. As well as boasting a vase life of up to two weeks, blue throatwort has admirable umbel-like clusters, roughly 4-6 inches across, made up of dozens of tiny '-inch flowers that do a most impressive job of filling out hand-ties and giving texture to bouquets.

Good for giving to: Forgotten sweethearts and maidens in need of a makeover.

Great blue throatworts in literature: Sir Walter Scott writes some purple poetry:

'Twas silence all-he laid him down,
Where purple heath profusely strown,
And throatwort with its azure bell,
And moss and thyme his cushion swell.
There, spent with toil, he listless eyed
The course of Greta's playful tide;'
Rokeby: Canto III

Is this the 50 Cent of the flower world? Perhaps not quite, since thrift was actually the flower depicted on the old thruppenny bit. Still, 'get rich or die tryin'' is an apt aphorism for Armeria maritima: folklore says you'll never be poor when thrift is growing in your garden, but the frugal seaside perennial that connotes sympathy for the fallen also moonlights as a funeral flower.

Seapink by northbaywanderer

That's about as ghetto fabulous as the one-inch clusters of tiny, five-petalled flowers get, however. As the county flower of Bute, Pembrokeshire and the Isles of Scilly, thrift (or sea pink, as it's sometimes called) is more connected with the queen than Queens. But perhaps any rappers needing to put things in perspective would benefit from some thrift flower essence, which is purported to help balance the energy centres.

Good for giving to: Bereaved fishwives and outta control gangstas.

Great thrifts in literature: Does spam poetry count as literature?

self-deceit chicken hazard gentle-born
sight rhyme Pro-french ten-a-penny
school seating sea thrift smoot hole
hand-fire stomach-filling shaft horsepower

In the words of the great miserablist, shyness is nice, but shyness can stop you from doing all the things in life you'd like to.

Vetch may have symbolised shyness to the Victorians, but that hasn't stopped the plant from horsing around as livestock fodder and dabbling in a bit of nitrogen fixing. Nor did it stop it from being an amuse-gueule in the diet of late Stone Agers.

Common Vetch by Dawn Endico

Vicia sativa, as common vetch is less commonly known, certainly doesn't look like an old fashioned flower, though. Rather, it has a jaunty jazz era or baby-booming Eighties edge: two-tone fuchsia and purple petals, whitening toward the base, that are swathed in a long-toothed calyx.

Fortunately, this rather garish fashion sense is moderated by the common vetch's size; the bilaterally symmetrical flowers of this pea-family member are only between one and two centimetres long.

Good for giving to: Timid types.

Saxifragales Hamamelidaceae Hamamelis sounds a little like a Latinesque abracadabra, and could verily have come into contact with claw of owl and lizard's tail; it's the botanical name of the four species of shrubs commonly known as witch hazel.

Jelena witch hazel by Blue Lotus

The ribbon-like sulphur-yellow or harlot-red petals of the Hamamelis flowers do indeed resemble the unkempt talons of a stereotypical sorceress - and uncannily curl and unfurl in response to the weather. But it's not for this reason that witch hazel acquired its common name. 'Witch', which comes from the Old English word 'wice', meaning bendable, is a reference to the fact that the branches of these shrubs were once de rigueur when it came to divination rods.

Nowdays, the branches are more prized for their piquant-scented tannin-rich bark, which is used as an astringent ingredient in such modern potions as cosmetics. The flowers themselves also boast fine fragrances, ranging from delicate and sweet to pungent and spicy. Those rather intoxicating scents must be the spell to which the Victorian floriographers were referring.

Good for giving to: Treasure hunters, spotty teenagers and wiccans.

Great witch hazels in literature: Nathaniel Hawthorn, no stranger to a witch hunt, alludes to the divining properties of the Hamamelis genus:

'In his general state, Ilbrahim would derive enjoyment from the most trifling events, and from every object about him; he seemed to discover rich treasures of happiness, by a faculty analogous to that of the witch hazel, which points to hidden gold where all is barren to the eye.'
From 'The Gentle Boy' in Tales Twice Told

Sainfoin (or saintfoin, if you prefer) is best known as a forage crop and a source of honey. Healthy, hey? Actually, more like 'healthy hay', etymologically speaking.

But why are we fumbling about with the nutritious properties, grazing benefits and verbal origins of Onobrychis viciifolia, when its floral qualities are clearly infinitely superior.

Onobrychis viciifolia by Jean Tosti

This beauty doesn't look like something the livestock should be eating. Its bright pink or white flowers with delicate red veins grow in splendid conical spikes, densly packed and pointing heavenward. Rather fitting for a flower that's also known as holy clover and that connotes 'trust in God'

Good for giving to: Holy cows and honey pies.

Imagine a little pink cabbage with a strong, sweet scent - one that you didn't have to eat, either. Voila: the hundred-leaved rose, known rather unglamorously as the cabbage rose. Although, almost certainly, boarding-school food would have a very different reputation if the murky soups and overcooked stews had been made with Rosa centifolia. 

Rosa centifolia

This very many petalled pink beauty, which is known somewhat more glamorously as the Provence rose, is, very glamorously indeed, alleged to have been a favourite in Josephine's rose garden at Malmaison. The sumptuous pouf of petals also made the hundred-leaved rose a popular motif in the still life paintings of the Old Masters - explaining its other nickname, Rose des Peintres.

Despite ex-Mrs Bonaparte's horrendous debts and Dutch painter Jacobus van Huysum's drinking woes, the Victorians decided to assign the hundred-leaved rose the floriographic connotation 'dignity of mind'.

Good for giving to: Continental artists and Empresses of the French.

Great hundred-leaved roses in literature: Bohemian poet Francis Ladislav Celakovsky authored Ricze stolistova which translates as 'Hundred-leaved rose'.

Lovesick puppies with a propensity for maladroitness will relate well to the Damask rose.

Connoting bashful love, Rosa damascena is first filled with bravado - as testified by its superlative sweet fragrance and sumptuous head of over 60 pink or red petals - before collapsing into clumsiness and dropping those petals willy nilly all over the place.

Lokelani by Alan L
(Read about this rose's adventures in Hawai'i)

But seeing as it's somewhat of an elderly gent in the rose world, perhaps we should be more forgiving.

Most suitors these days can't claim to have left a mark in the annals of history dating back to 445 BC. Rival roses may claim that the flower of which Herodotus wrote at that time wasn't in fact the Damask, but our ungainly hero just shrugs, drops a few more petals, and reminisces about its travels to Europe from Persia in the middle of the 13th century.

Good for giving to: Ham-fisted honeys and coy cavaliers.

Great Damask roses in literature: Wilkie Collins' Sergeant Cuff was compelled to remark on the flowers as he sauntered through a rosery:

'You find the damask rose a goodish stock for most of the tender sorts, don't you, Mr. Gardener?'
The Moonstone

Vangelis also wrote an instrumental with the title  'Damask Rose'.

An enviable name for a Midwestern country singer, Red Osier Dogwood. And the comely Cornus stolonifera is without doubt an all-American variety. Hell yeah, if it could, this urbane cowboy of the flower world would surely be singin' what's on its mind, and jus' speakin' plain. So it seems apt that the stateside native connotes frankness - but how the Victorians arrived at the meaning will forever remain a mystery.

Red osier dogwood by Sulfur

Trouble is, for all this talk of forthrightness, the red osier dogwood flower aint red, it's white. Not bright, shiny, American smiling teeth white, but dull white. And it's also rather tiny, about a half to one centimeter across, but it grows in clusters, so, despite its size, it still makes quite an impression. And as if that wasn't enough, the flowers develop into drupes: beautiful white berries tinged with blue. There's gotta be a ballad in there somewhere.

Good for giving to: Blunt, guileless and forthright acquaintances.

Great red osier dogwoods in literature: To be frank, none.

What would you say to someone who admitted to having a moonwort? I'd say they sounded rather unlucky - even if I didn't know that they were actually talking about Botrychium lunaria, and that the floriographic connotation for this flower was 'unfortunate'.

Moonwort (Botrychium lunaria)

Then the question arises as to whether moonwort is actually a flower. As the plant is a fern, the flower isn't a petalled spectacular, but a cluster of tiny spore cases. That explains why moonwort's often called grape fern, but where does the lunar bit take its cue from? Take a look at the 'leaves'; I've seen closer resemblances to earth's natural satellite, but the botanist Linneaus insisted moonwort's pinnae were distinctly crescent-shaped.

Unsurprisingly, the rather unattractive moonwort, which is often considered more fungus than fern (something to do with its root system), is a bit of a coy mistress. It only pushes a single frond above ground each year, and sometimes neglects to do even that. The frond itself tends to hide beneath leaves, making it somewhat tricky to find.

And don't we all want what we can't get our hands on? In the case of this flower, I'm not so sure. But thousands would disagree: there's a phenomenon called Moonwort Madness that sees allegedly sane people crawling over hill and dale after sunset to track down the elusive grape fern.

Good for giving to: Ill-fated colleagues and treasure seekers.

Great moonworts in literature: Nothing in the classics, it seems, but there's a Michael Jackson dance move named after it. Oh, yeah, that was moonwalk, wasn't it?

'Spruce yourself up, child!' Does the mother who barks these commands really mean for her child to make itself look like Picea abies (a Christmas tree), or is it just a pointless plea she knows won't be heeded, enabling her to express 'hope in adversity' - the floriographic connotation of the evergreen spruce?

Norway spruce (Picea abies) from Koehler's Medicinal-Plants 1887

Or perhaps that notion of 'hope in adversity' is derived from the spiky needles of this paper-making tree, which contrast sharply to its droopy cones? Although the likelihood is slim, it's a sweet idea to entertain that the meaning was derived from the optimistic little pink (female) and yellow (male) blossoms that appear briefly in the summer months before they develop into those cones.

Good for giving to: Neat and tidy Pollyannas.

Great spruces in literature: More like adversity without hope, here:

Dark spruce forest frowned on either side the frozen waterway.
From White Fang by Jack London<

Spruce - The Daily Flower for 19 February

Frankincense, gold and myrmecochory sums up the story of the true celandine, Chelidonium majus: a stinky-sapped golden flower that's pollinated by ants.

Chelidonium majus by Rasbak

Despite the fact that the flower is neither papery nor red, nor donned on lapels in November, the mass of stamens in its centre make it an easily identifiable member of the Papaveraceae family - to the point that it's sometimes dubbed the yellow flowering poppy.

The name celandine is an Anglicisation of the Greek word chelidon, which means swallow. Apparently these Mediterranean natives blossom when the birds arrive, and stop blooming when they depart. So a field full of them most probably does a summer make. No wonder the Victorians took celandine to mean 'joys to come'.

Good for giving to: Antsy-panted summerlovers and hypochondriacs (just how many remedies can you make from a single plant?).

Great celandines in literature: One or two curious walk-on parts, but none more curious than this:

'There was a sort of sham soldier [:] who was whistling as he undid the bandages from his fictitious wound [...] On the other hand, there was a wretched fellow, preparing with celandine and beef's blood, his 'leg of God', for the next day.'
Victor Hugo, Notre-Dame de Paris 

A rolling stone gathers no maternal love - that hasn't got quite the same ring to it, has it? But perhaps that's what's really meant by the proverb; after all, maternal love is the floriographic connotation of the more than 10,000 species in the division Bryophyta.

Sphagnum rubellum by b.gliwa

Surprising, then, that the Victorians didn't save moss to be the flower of the day for somewhere a little closer to the fourth Sunday after Lent (although it's not long to go until Mother's Day).

Admittedly, unless your mum is very rock 'n' roll, she probably won't be too impressed with a gift of a nonvascular bit of greenery that doesn't do flowers but can drink eight times its weight in 'aqua vitae'. Oh, she is? Well, in that case, go for a Sphagnum moss - these are the plants that are a vital component in peat, and we all know the best use for peat is intrinsically connected with whisky.

If your mum's a bit tamer than that, but you still like the idea of giving her moss because of its meaning, you could opt for an orchid. How so? Well, florists tend to wrap up their root systems in a sphagnum blanket to keep them moist, but not too soggy (an idea possibly gleaned from folk of yore who used mosses as nappies).

Good for giving to: Maternal units.

Great mosses in literature: Great at homemaking, just like (the popular Western projection of what it is to be a) mum:

Goody Tiptoes was busy pushing moss under the thatch'-'The nest is so snug, we shall be sound asleep all winter.'
From The Original Peter Rabbit Books by Beatrix Potter

Moss - The Daily Flower for 16 February

What links Crocodiles, Snow Queens and Summer Showers? Well, to themselves, a couple of short stalks spreading like umbrella ribs from a stem - but, to one another, the fact that they're all varieties of Pelargonium peltatum, the ivy-leaved geranium.

Ivy leaf geraniums by bc anna

These South African natives get their botanical name from the Greek word for stork (the fruits resemble a crane's bill) and the Latin for shield (take a look at the ivy-shaped leaves). It's the flowers, however, that are the most striking. The cascades of maroon, mauve or pinkish flowers have such an intensity of hue that they are used as a pigment to make an indigo dye, while essential oils popular in perfumeries are extracted from the petals.

You can even eat the flowers, if you like a bit of a bite to your bites, or wish to freshen the breath. The acidity also makes the flowers a welcome astringent for greasy skin. In floriography, ivy-leaved geraniums connote 'save the next dance for me' - perhaps dropped off as a kind of ballroom queue ticket by prospective waltzers with dodgy complexions and halitosis before they themselves popped off to freshen up with their own stem of pelargonium.

Good for giving to: Spotty teenagers and anyone with whom you fancy taking a turn on the floorboards.

Great geraniums in literature: They seem all to be rather unremarkable, really - and mostly used to describe a touch of colour added to a lapel. Jane Austen's characters find them rather inspirational, however:

'To this nest of comforts Fanny now walked down to [:] see if [:] by giving air to her geraniums she might inhale a breeze of mental strength herself. '
Mansfield Park

The gentle harebell (as Dickens would have it) or proud bluebell (sic. the Scots) is the round-leaved descendent of the extended campanula genus. Well, actually, that's not entirely correct. While the first part of campanula rotundifolia's name accurately describes the bell-shaped blossoms, the second part refers only to the basal leaves - those on the wiry stem are contrarily long and narrow.

Blue Bells by bc anna

Harebell it may be, but a hairy belle it is not. Rabbity, perhaps: yes. Long stalks branch off the plant's smooth stems, off which grow clusters of little paper-thin lilac flowers with a propensity to 'hop' (botanists prefer 'nod') up and down.

Why such buoyant blossoms are considered to represent constancy is difficult to deduce; although the second meaning, gratitude, is surely derived from the bobbing flower heads.

Good for giving to: Anyone who's done you a favour or been supportive.

Great harebells in literature: Cameo parts in an abundance of British novels with outdoorsy protagonists. More interestingly cited as distracting and delicious in Rudyard Kipling's Actions and Reactions:

'George Lashmar Chapin wanted all the bluebells on God's earth that day to eat, and--Sophie adored him in a voice like to the cooing of a dove; so business was delayed.'

Seen a flushed-faced, husky-voiced someone mooning about with dilated pupils and an abnormally rapid beating of the heart? It may not be a beautiful woman who's responsible for these symptoms, but belladonna, the deadly nightshade.

Ingested in large quantities (or smaller amounts, if you're a child or a domestic pet), the tropane alkaloids of the Eurasian perennial Atropa belladonna can cause symptoms reminiscent of a giddy lover, but which are a prelude not to a little death, but death itself. To be expected, surely, from a shrub whose botanical name is a tribute to the Fate who held the shears that cut the thread of human life.

But just a drop of tincture made from the murky purple, bell-shaped flowers that grow singly from the axils of the plant's glabrous leaves can be used to a more positive effect. Italian women (bella donnas) are alleged to have crushed the 1-inch petals or a few drops of sweet juice from the inky berries to make eyedrops that would give their peepers greater allure.

Belladonna by Steve Ford Elliott

In Chaucer's day, the shrub was dubbed dwale, said to be derived either from the Scandinavian word for sleep or the French word for grief.

Perhaps these are truths, perhaps falsehoods (and perhaps that's why the Victorians couldn't decide between 'verity' and 'fallacy' when giving deadly nightshade a floriographic connotation) - it's probably best to take the stories with a pinch of salt.  Unless you've overdosed on dear belladonna, in which case, take a pinch of mustard in a glass of vinegar and water.

Good for giving to: People you don't really like. Or who need a bit of a twinkle in their eye.

Great belladonnas in literature: Opiate don Conan Doyle and Devil's Dictionarist Ambrose Bierce both pay tribute to this mildly hallucinogenic plant that's sometimes called Naughty Man's Cherries. Virgina Woolf's Mr Rodney just uses it for his fragmentary metaphors:

'Literature was a fresh garland of spring flowers, he said, in which yew-berries and the purple nightshade mingled with the various tints of the anemone;'
Night and Day

Revered by mystical yogis and yoga mums alike, the numinous Nelumbo nucifera was once as popular a motif on palace walls as it is today on Pilates mats. But the murky beginnings of the lotus flower are proof that it deserves admiration from a far wider audience than the clean-living of Notting Hill.

Beneath the broad velvety leaves and iridescent pink blossoms that float sublimely on the surface of the water, the root system of this aquatic plant is firmly entrenched in the antediluvian sludge of the riverbed. The plants often begin their life in dried-up pools after the monsoons, triumphing over adversity and apparently regerminating for thousands of years.

Indian Lotus by titanium22

From there, it doesn't take much cerebral prowess to understand why the lotus flower represents good fortune and eternity in Eastern cultures. More taxing, however, is making the leap to the Victorians' floriographic meaning: estranged love. Perhaps the best thing to do is brew a mind-permeating tea from the sweet-scented flower, sit on a lily pad, and think about it for a while.

Good for giving to: Accidental heros, recent exes and nirvana seekers.

Great lotuses in literature: The magical beauties have featured in classics from Homer to Bram Stoker.

'And the Nelumbo bud that floats for ever
With Indian Cupid down the holy river'
Edgar Allan Poe

It's no kitchen whimsy that's given basil the nickname 'king of herbs' - it's a verifiable etymological fact: in Greek, basilikos means royal. But is that a justifiable reason for featuring this green-leafed regal member of the mint family in The Daily Flower? Not really, but the fact that the plant boasts a little-known but rather beautiful flower most certainly is.

The reason you may not have had the pleasure of encountering basil flowers is that they are often pinched off before they bloom - it's a commonly held belief that this encourages a greater abundance of better-tasting leaves. If left to its own devices, however, the basil plant grows clusters of irregular white or purple blossoms just over a centimetre in length.

Stalk of basil by Christian Bauer

Although basil leaves are the undisputed 'herbe royale', there's much debate over what the flowers connote. Opinions seem to sway from the sublime (best wishes) to the ridiculous (hatred of the other sex) - both of which could stem from an early Greek and Roman tradition of cursing loudly while sewing basil seeds in the belief that it would ensure a good crop.

Good for giving to: Lovers (if you're Italian), enemies (if you're an ancient Greek), scorpiophobes (if you're in Africa), cooks and anyone needing the rub of the green.

Great basils in literature: A nickname given by Tertius to Rosamund in George Eliot's Middlemarch:

'He once called her his basil plant; and when she asked for an explanation, said that basil was a plant which had flourished wonderfully on a murdered man's brains.'

A curious dichotomy of meaning for the bipinnately compound leafed acacia plant: 'chaste love', and also 'concealed love'. How did these far-from-synonymous connotations arise? I blame Balzac:

'And the poor soldier went to the acacia; but when he was a few steps from it, the countess looked at him, as if defying him, although a slight expression of fear seemed to flicker in her eye; then, with a single bound she sprang from the acacia to a laburnum, and thence to a Norway fir, where she darted from branch to branch with extraordinary agility.'

More like chased love than chaste love, but never mind. Either way, theacacia is undeniably connected with affairs of the heart, be theyunrevealed or unconsummated.

Acacia blossoms by karol m

That said, a further curiosity arises, as the bright-yellow firework-like flowers with their lovely perfume are themselves neither concealed nor coy. But the Victorians always had some rather odd views (after all, they insisted on table legs being covered in drapes lest they proved too titillating), so perhaps we should just nod dourly and sneak a blossom shyly to our favourite piece of furniture.

Good for giving to: Australians (the golden wattle variety is their national plant) and secret squeezes.

You'd probably think someone was barking mad if they told you they fancied a bit of white skirt and orange hips - unless, of course, you were well acquainted with Rosa Canina, the dog rose.

Dog Rose by Pete S

Chances are you've caught a fleeting glimpse of this flower already. The softly scented, pale pinkish-white blossoms are a common sight in hedgerows across England, where locals sometimes refer to the rose as wild briar. In late summer, the flowers produce pomaceous fruit ('hips') that can be harvested to make a vitamin-C-rich syrup or herbal tea.

But what's with the dogs? Did the flower get its name because it is used as a symbol for pleasure and pain (like man's best friend who both bites and delights), or perhaps because the jagged leaves are reminiscent of hounds' teeth? Apparently not; the rose is so called because its root was once believed to cure a disease caught from rabid dogs.

Good for giving to: Unrequiting lovers, rambling beauties and anyone twice shy.

If you're au fait with a bit of ole, today's flower probably evokes (somewhat blurry) memories of late-night dancing in Barcelona. Indeed, the Spanish 'verbena' - a kind of outdoor summer disco - derives its name from the plant, which in turn takes its name from the Latin for leafy branch or sacred bough. But from whence the floriographic association of this plant is derived remains somewhat more of a mystery - unless notions of regret and weeping for somebody are intrinsically connected to jiving around in the moonlight with a bottle of Rioja.

Purple Burst by Scott Robinson

Like regret, purple-top verbena travels by a variety of other names: Argentinean vervain, tall verbena, verbena patagonica and verbena bonariensis. As these South American synonyms suggest, the plant is a native of the New World, which, true to its heritage, celebrates the warm weather by flowering from mid-summer to late autumn. The fragrant clusters of mauve florets that blossom on the wiry stems also prove utterly irresistible to butterflies.

Good for giving to: Miserablists, lepidopterists and writers of extravagant prose.

A ponderous plant with pendulous bell-shaped flowers, the Imperial lily doesn't exactly shout 'dignity'. But then again, dignity isn't usually something that's brazenly proclaimed, so perhaps it's rather an apt floriographic connotation after all: at least until one learns that fritillaria imperialis, the giant of the Liliaceae family, is an absolute stinker.

Fritillaria imperialis yellow by bc anna.

Indeed, the Middle-Eastern native is known for emitting foul odours - variously described as 'musky', 'skunky' or like 'wet fur and garlic' - from its magnificent flowers.

The imperial lily certainly didn't get its scientific name from its odiferous characteristics, either. Fritillus is new Latin for 'dice cup' and imperialis translates as 'grand'. The size of the Imperial lily explains the latter, but the former requires a bit more elucidation.

Apparently, the Romans used patterned shakers for gambling, and, although the Imperial lily's flowers are either solid yellow or auburn in colour, most plants prefixed by fritillus have petals with variegated markings.

Good for giving to: The Imperial lily is not a good choice in bouquets, unless you know someone who has unwittingly become a Pied Piper of Hamelin - the flowers are an excellent rodent repellent.

If you forgot to give someone red roses yesterday, don't be surprised if you receive a little sprig of Conium maculatum today. Whatever you do, don't eat it. And if you're foolish enough not to heed that warning (a high possibility if you were foolish enough to forget 14 February), don't think that the dizzy feeling that ensues is simply a case of lovesickness. It ain't; it's a prelude to death.

Conium maculatum from Koehler's Medicinal-Plants 1887

Quite unassuming in its appearance, hemlock is, on the contrary, an extremely toxic herb. You can tell it apart from its benign white-flowered umbellate relatives the carrot, the fennel and the parsley by looking closely at the stem, which is as smooth as a just-shaven leg and donning the plant-world equivalent of racy fish-net tights: streaky red markings. Danger! Danger! All the signs are there:

Good for giving to: Socratic lovers who questioned one thing too many when they wondered the point of sending Valentine's flowers.

Great hemlocks in literature: If you did do wrong, some would seem to suggest that it's best if you do eat it, after all:

Man has no power whatever unless he has unlimited freedom of action. Suppose that he has been guilty of some irreparable error, from the shameful consequences of which there is no escape; a sordid nature swallows down the disgrace and survives it, the wise man drinks the hemlock and dies.
From The Country Doctor by Honore de Balzac

Hemlock - The Daily Flower for 15 February

If it's the thrill of the new and instant passions that give you your kicks on St Valentine's Day, the Japanese quince is the thing for you. Jennifer, Alison, Phillipa, Sue, Deborah, Annabel, too: there are so many names for this flowering shrub with its seductive pink, red or blanched blossoms, it's the horticultural equivalent of dating someone new every day.

Japanese quince by tanakawho

Let's start with the family name: take your pick from the cutesy Cydonia (meaning quince, and derived from the name of a Cretan town), the provocative Pyrus (meaning pear, after the shape of the plant's leaves) or the charming Chaenomeles (from the Greek for 'split apple'). After that, you get to pick a species epithet that takes your fancy - will it be japonica or maulei today, Captain Casanova? Quite frankly, my dear, I don't imagine you'll give a damn, for if the Japanese quince lives up to its floriographic connotation, you'll have already fallen in love at first sight.

Good for giving to: Your gorgeous Valentine(s).

Great Japanese quinces in literature: Not instantly infatuating enough to detract the speaker from her human object of affection:

You tell me that the peonies need spraying,
That the columbines have overrun all bounds,
That the pyrus japonica should be cut back and rounded.
You tell me these things.
But I look at you, heart of silver,
White heart-flame of polished silver,
Burning beneath the blue steeples of the larkspur,
And I long to kneel instantly at your feet,
While all about us peal the loud,
sweet Te Deums of the Canterbury bells
From 'Madonna of the Evening Flowers' by Amy Lowell

Japanese Quince - The Daily Flower for 14 February

Oh, sure, Sempervivum tectorum looks just like Madame Fowl and her brood - if you're viewing them through a prehistoric lens.

There's certainly something Jurassic about the rosettes of this Crassulaceae-family succulent, not to mention its almost antediluvian-sounding trinomial which translates (very roughly) as thick-leaved, ever-living plant that grows on thatched roofs.

Hen and Chicks by dogfaceboy

This 'ever living' may explain why the flower has come to connote liveliness in floriography, but its penchant for hayed gables has nothing to do with its common name 'hen and chicks'. That comes from the fact that, every year, stems extend from below the larger rosettes (the hens) to produce a dozen or so new little plants (the chicks).

Sempervivum tectorum flowers by Sabine Reute

Good for giving to: Fans of poultry in motion.

Great hen and chicks in literature: A hen and chicks by any other name still winks as coyly...

Now,---the single little turret that remains
On the plains,
By the caper overrooted, by the gourd
Overscored,
While the patching houseleek's head of blossom winks
Through the chinks---
Marks the basement whence a tower in ancient time
Sprang sublime,
From 'Love Among the Ruins' by Robert Browning

Hen and Chicks - The Daily Flower for 9 February

If plants were people, blue rock bindweed would be an aging hippy. Springy vine tendrils like unkempt curls are tousled with greying foliage and haphazardly decorated with pretty little floral beads.

Flowers and rain drops by joka2000

True to this free-lovin' comparison, convolvulus sabatia is one speciesin a genus of over 250 plants in the bindweed family. But don't makethe mistake of confusing it, or its close relative convolvulustricolor, with morning glory.

Sporting funnel-shaped flowers in hues from the same end of the spectrum as that short-lived beauty from the Ipomoea genus, blue rock bindweed tends to be slightly less gaudy and more relaxed in nature. And unlike that social climber, it's quite literally down to earth, with smaller, paler blossoms that are just an inch in diameter.

Being more easy-going, convolvulus is also able to last quite a bit beyond sunset - aptly reflected in the floriographic connotations of night and repose.

Good for giving to: Peaceniks and chilled-out flower children.

Great convolvuli in literature: Hey man, they're not fazed by all that hi-falutin' stuff. But they did get a nod from Thomas Hardy:

'My Tess, no doubt, almost as many experiences as that wild convolvulus out there on the garden hedge, that opened itself this morning for the first time.'
Tess of the d'Urbervilles

Like most child prodigies who've not been celebritised by the Western world, Marvel of Peru is quite a shy little plant. Most certainly seen, but (unlike the mandrake) seldom heard, Mirabilis jalapa (the name by which this Brazilian native is introduced to its elders) is the perfect floriographic symbol for timidity.

Marvel of Peru by masatsu

The perfect symbol for timidity, if you don't count the fact that it's a bit of a lush come nightfall. As soon as the afternoon sets in (four o'clock, to be precise - hence the flower's other common name), the Marvel of Peru opens its showy, sweetly scented tubular flowers to reveal a host of gaudy hues: pinks, yellows, oranges and reds.

Good for giving to: Gaudy juvenile geniuses.

Great Marvels of Peru in literature: Andrew Marvell uses the Marvel as metaphor, perhaps?:

'Another world was search'd, through oceans new,
To find the Marvel of Peru.
And yet these rarities might be allow'd,
To man, that sov'reign thing and proud;
Had he not dealt between the bark and tree,
Forbidden mixtures there to see.'
From 'The Mower' by Andrew Marvell.

Ever come across a tribute band that outshines the originals? The Wax Dolls may have been a headline act at the 1 September floral rock fest, but the Wax Vines are really the ones you should be watching.

Hoya by Josef Stuefer

More trellis climbers than chart climbers, these sweet-scented little floral stars from Southern Asia are of the same botanical class as wax dolls, but of quite a different order: Gentianales.

Hoya carnosa, the moniker by which the common Wax Vine or hoya is officially known, is said to be a tribute in itself. The plant is allegedly named after a green-fingered fellow who was in the employ of the Duke of Northumberland: Thomas Hoyn. A chubby chap he may have been, but the descriptor carnosa, from the Latin for fleshy, here refers directly to the leaves of the wax vine.

Lardy leaves are one thing, but it's the flowers of the hoya that are really its best feature. Every summer, the plant produces umbels of gorgeous 1-cm wide flowers, remarkable in that their calyx, corolla and corona are all perfect, five-pointed stars.

Although the flowers look like a cat's rough tongue in the picture above, they're more typically thought to resemble fine bone china, to the extent that Porcelain Flower is yet another hoyan epithet.

Harder to explain is the hoya flower's meaning in floriography: sculpture. Nope, not 'you are a sculpture', or 'you demand to be sculpted', just 'sculpture'. Can't quite imagine why the Victorians would be compelled to convey such a message through the language of flowers, but they must have had their reasons.

Good for giving to: Those with a heart of stone (and possibly also a leg, arm, head and body of some hewable material).

Lion's ears, lion's tails. One shouldn't imagine that pulling them would be good for the heart - and least of all for 'female weakness and disorders'. Well, not if one were thinking too literally.

Motherwort by Doctor Swan

Lion's ear and Lion's tail also refer to Leonotis leonurus (a.k.a. Leonurus cardiaca), the bitter-tasting herb that's long been used as a cardiac tonic and menopausal medicine.

From this, it's easy to glean how the pink-blossomed plant came to be known as motherwort, but what of the leonine connection? It's got nothing to do with taming beasts, but rather with appearances: take a look at the shape of the fuzzy leaves. How it connotes 'concealed love', however, shall have to remain mysterious... unless it's something to do with heartache?

Good for giving to: Soothing mothers with hidden passions.

Great motherworts in literature:

He had a word
for that-we all do-but no
word for a woman's shoulders
as she rises from her bed
in the darkness, no word even
for the warm darkness smelling
of one ocean and the seven
rivers that surround the heart,
no word for the wind flattening
the motherwort that grows at
its ease in the public squares
or along the cracked curbing
on Delancey Street, the wind
bringing hope in the morning
and carrying off our exhaust
as the light goes each evening.
From 'Joe Gould's Pen' by Philip Levine

Motherwort - The Daily Flower for 25 January

Soundgarden's not the kind of band one would immediately associate with flowers - although given their jardinesque moniker, perhaps that's a silly mistake. There are certainly ways of interpreting their lyrics that suggest a penchant for petals.

Black hole sun
Won't you come
And wash away the rain
Black hole sun
Won't you come
Won't you come

A plea for relief from a some strange solar body? Or to Solanum nigrum, the black nightshade or sunberry?

Whichever name you choose to give this purportedly poisonous flower (and there are plenty more to choose from, including morella, garden huckleberry and wonderberry), there's little doubt that it has some soothing medicinal properties if administered in the right amount. Bohemian babies' slumber was aided by the leaves, while those in the rest of the world had the pain of their 'yellow rain' washed away with a Solanum nigrum nappy rash ointment.

Black nightshade

If you're a bit wary about coming too close to black nightshades, though, fear not: you can still enjoy them from afar. The clusters of little white star-shaped flowers are really quite eye-catching.

Good for giving to: The nightshade family Solanaceae is said to connote 'warning' and 'fact' in floriography, so perhaps to anyone that needs to pay heed to some dark truths.

Great black nightshades in literature: Rather fittingly, the gloomy Poe seems to have taken a shine to the black nightshade in his prose story 'Morella'.

Black Nightshade - The Daily Flower for 23 January

One look at the priapic sweet flag and it's easy to see how it's become a symbol of male love.

Acorus calamus

The botanical name, Acorus calamus is further testimony to the masculine traits of the sweet flag. Not the first bit - that is merely the Latinisation of a Greek word describing plants with aromatic roots. It's the calamus bit that's interesting.

According to myth, Kalamos was a real son of a god (a river god, to be precise) who fell head-over-heals in love with Karpos. Karpos, however, fell head-over-heals into the river, and drowned. Kalamos commiserated by turning into a reed and spent his days rustling sadly ever after. 

Sweet flag's thick spadix of tiny greeny-brown flowers packed tightly together certainly doesn't look too down in the mouth, though. Perhaps that's because of the lovely cinnamon scent that lingers around it, courtesy of its iris-like leaves.

But it was the shape of the sweet flag, not the smell, that held such appeal for Walt Whitman, who used the plant as a symbol for lust and gay love. The Victorian floriographers insisted it connoted 'fitness', but remember, they were the ones who covered up table legs lest they prove too evocative.

Good for giving to: Whitman fans, athletes and gay couples.

Great sweet flags in literature: Mr Whitman speaks fondly of them in his 'Calamus Poems' in Leaves of Grass:

'I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven.'
From 'Song of Myself'

It's August, the schools have broken up and summer is in full swing - and what better way to celebrate the sunshine than with a bouquet of fresh, delivered flowers?

The scent of this season's flowers is instantly recognisable, and is bound to invoke memories of summers gone by, especially as traditional meadow varieties, such as chrysanthemums and carnations, are synonymous with summertime in the British countryside.

And with the rising popularity of online flower delivery, it's easy to bring a bouquet of sunshine into your home in a click, via your favourite online flower shop.

Many amazing strains are at their peak across the world during the summer season - giving the array of bouquets available at most international florists a huge range of colour and vitality.

Native and international varieties available during August include: pink, red and white roses; lilies; lisianthus; sunflowers; germini; orchids, and freesia - all in a rainbow of reds, oranges, greens, blues, purples and yellows.

Whether you want something strictly British, or imported flowers with an exotic edge, online florists can offer something unique and beautiful to really bring summer home.

Information brought to you by Serenata Flowers - awarded Which? magazine's Best Flower Delivery Service 2011

The beauty of flowers stems as much from their fragility and delicate nature as it does from their dazzling array of colours and amazing aromas.

As a result, they need care and attention to stay looking their best for a long time.

With the summer sun raising temperatures inside and out, your favourite flowers will need plenty of water and tender loving care.

Luckily, there are a few tips and tricks you can use to make sure your bouquet stays beautiful.

If you've ordered fresh flowers to be delivered, the first thing to do when they arrive is ensure they get a drink.

Using sharp scissors, cut the stems at an angle, to maximise the available surface area for them to absorb water. Also make sure to cut the stems so the flowers will fit inside your chosen vase.

If any of the flowers are still buds, then placing them in a little warm water will help open up the flowers.

Once your flowers are in the vase, make sure to prune away any heads that are close to the water level - these could ruin the water and cause your bouquet to die early.

Remember not to place the vase in a draught or too near a window, and be sure to keep the water topped up every day.

Most bouquets should last about a week, if not a little more. The better care you take of the flowers, the more you will get out of them.

Information brought to you by Serenata Flowers - awarded Which? magazine's Best Flower Delivery Service 2011

Choosing the best present for a mum and her newborn baby can be a tough task.

The birth of a child is an ideal occasion to celebrate - but the practicalities often mean mum is tied up for weeks after giving birth.

For close friends or relatives who have just had a child, a bouquet of delivered flowers may be an ideal way to show you are thinking of them and sharing their joy - especially if they are on the other side of the world.

Not everyone can afford an airline ticket to visit their friends abroad and meet their new arrivals - so sending a loving gift could be the ideal solution.

There are loads of options for the ideal mum and baby bouquet - you could go along the lines of gender stereotypes and pick out a bouquet of beautiful pink roses, fuchsias or lilies for a girl, or bright blue and purple freesia and limoniums, like lavendar, for a boy.

Mum will no doubt appreciate the gift of flowers - even if baby just likes the colours - but it's easy to find a flower shop which offers a great selection of mum and baby baskets, with perfect petals for mum, and soft toys and colourful pyjamas for the little one.

Information brought to you by Serenata Flowers - awarded Which? magazine's Best Flower Delivery Service 2011

Sorry seems to be the hardest word - sometimes this is so true, no matter how sorry we may be, it can be hard to express, and many people may find it easier to apologise with a gesture such as flowers.

Flowers show that you are genuine in your remorse and want to make amends.  Choose the person's favourite flowers, and you're also demonstrating a thoughtful side.  A simple short note added to the bouquet can get your message across in just a few words, and there is even convenient home delivery of flowers if you aren't ready to see the person face to face yet.  Flowers will simply provide the perfect olive branch to offer your apologies and begin the healing process of forgiveness.

Whatever the reason for your apology - be it cross words, a misunderstanding or forgotten occasion, there is no better way to say sorry than armed with some beautiful flowers.

Make sure your apology is heartfelt by going the extra mile with a bouquet.

Information brought to you by Serenata Flowers - awarded Which? magazine's Best Flower Delivery Service 2011

When it comes to old wives' tales, everyone has their own secret hints and tips for everything from removing stains from furniture to cleaning clothes.

Keeping flowers fresh is an age-old conundrum - with many self-appointed experts offering a range of tips for getting the longest life from your blooms.

There are some surprising suggestions, too, from using bleach to vodka.

Most delivered flowers come with special food, and care and feeding instructions, which it's advisable to follow. If you want to try something a bit different though - at the risk of killing an innocent bouquet, here are some more unusual flower care tips:

Bleach: water-borne bacteria can cause flowers to die prematurely, so adding a few drops of bleach to every litre of water in a vase apparently helps kill these bacteria, with little harm to the leaves.

Aspirin: it may be great for getting rid of a headache, but aspirin is also an alleged elixir for flowers. Adding a ground-up aspirin to your water, before adding your flowers, is rumoured to help keep cut flowers fresh for longer.

Vodka: like bleach, a little vodka mixed with sugar is said to help curtail the growth of bacteria in the vase. By changing the water cocktail every day, you can apparently help your flowers live for a few days longer.

Information brought to you by Serenata Flowers - awarded Which? magazine's Best Flower Delivery Service 2011

Intoxicating! Not just the heady, heavenly scent of white jasmine, but the flowers themselves - and not just to look at, either:

Jasmine stars by Hunda

Whether used to flavour tea or ice-cream, perfumes or essential oils, the little white star-shaped blossoms of jasminum officinale flirt their aphrodisiac properties to relieve frigidity and depression.

We strongly suspect that's how it came to mean extreme amiability in floriography, and have had to resist the temptation to write a creation myth for its evocative synonym: poet's jasmine.

Good for giving to: Ice queens, moribund bards and Tunisians (it's their national flower).

Great jasmine in literature: Sweet-scented references abound, but the flower's appearance in Sinbad's den seemed truest to its stimulating properties:

'Both laid themselves down on the divan; chibouques with jasmine tubes and amber mouthpieces were within reach, and all prepared so that there was no need to smoke the same pipe twice.'
Alexandre Dumas, The Count of Monte Cristo

The girl from Ipomoea, when she passes, each one she passes goes 'a-a-ah!' But, according to floriographers, the morning glory, unlike the girl from Ipanema, says 'she loves you'. A bit of a throwaway phrase, however, considering that each flower only lasts for a day.

Ipomoea by Tracy Ducasse

What the morning glory lacks in endurance, it makes up for with abundance - you'll find a new beauty parading its heavenly blue trumpet every morning. That's assuming you're not eyeing out Grandpa Ott, Scarlet O'Hara or Pearly Gates - just three of the over-500 morning glory varieties, who produce purple, crimson and white floral funnels respectively.

If the sheer but short-lived high of admiring morning glories doesn't provide a sufficiently substantial fix, you could try eating Ipomoea violacea, whose little black seeds have mild hallucinogenic properties. Other Ipomoea varieties have slightly more medicinal associations - the tropicals were once popular remedies for bloated ankles, roundworm infections and constipation.

Good for giving to: Katharine Hepburn fans, glider pilots and anyone chained to the mirror with a razor blade.

Great morning glories in literature: None in the classics, but they've secured their place in popular culture thanks to the Beatles ('She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah') and Oasis.

If they issued ASBOs to flowers, Convolvulus arvensis (Bindweed to his mates) would be the first to get one.

Bindweed, you see, is the delinquent teenager of the plant world. Forbid it from frequenting such insalubrious locations as the railway tracks and vacant lots, and, without fail, there you shall find it graffitoing its rather unimaginative white flower tag over every available surface.

Bindweed by zenera

Declared a noxious weed in almost every state of the US and connoting obstinacy in floriography, bindweed is inevitably a plant that's rather contrary of character: anti-clockwise twirling tendrils, fearless of anti-climb paint (it'll scale any railings and fences it comes near) and mixed up with booze (apparently it flavours a liqueur called Noyeau).

But, like all teenagers - even the ones with ASBOs - bindweed has a sweet side. Rather surprisingly, it's its smell.

Want to send some less obstinate white flowers with an even sweeter scent? Try these freesias.

Good for giving to: Stick-in-the-muds, or herd-followers.

Great bindweed in literature:

the bindweed flower
you put in my bashful hair
has faded
in the delicate light
of the evening.
'The bindweed flower' by Kawano Yuko (trans. Amelia Fielden and Ugawa Kozue)

Here's a curious possibility: flower-lovers from British Columbia with a better knowledge of British geography than non-flower-lovers living on the Sceptred Isle.

It's not such an unlikely prospect when you consider the Pulborough Scarlet - a cultivar of Ribes sanguineum that's native to Canada's westernmost province, but named after a little-known village in West Sussex.

Ribes sanguineum blossom by André Karwath

More commonly known as the flowering currant, ribes sanguineum (from the Persian ribas, meaning acid-tasting, and the Latin for blood red) produces racemes of little red, fuchsia, and, in some cultivars, white flowers.

These five-petaled tubular beauties produce a lovely sweet scent that's most attractive to birds and butterflies.The Victorians clearly derived much satisfaction from currants, too, according them the floriographic connotation 'you please me'. Well, that and 'thy frown will kill me', so don't be too easily fooled by the charms of the Ribes genus.

Good for giving to: Grimacing Medusas who nevertheless don't cease to delight.

Great flowering currants in literature: Sheer poetry in Steven Marx's Ecologs

'The subtle fragrance of Ribes sanguineum glutinosum, more leathery than sweet, occasionally wafted past but dissipated before I could satisfy my hungry nostrils.'

If you've ever looked closely at the tarsus of Corvus corone, you're probably wondering how on earth meadow crowfoot became the common name of Ranunculus acris. Apparently, it's something to do with the three-part pedate leaves, which seems to suggest (since we're talking about the flowers, after all) that we should stick to the more apt monikers of meadow buttercup and gold cup - far more accurate descriptions of the yellow goblet-shaped petals.

Buttercup landscape V by Till Westermayer

Certainly, the five yellow petals and central mass of saffron-hued stamens have a radiance deserving of the floriogrpahic connotation 'brilliancy'. Perhaps this is why the flower was the accessory du jour of pre-nuptial lovers in the days of yore.

Good for giving to: Shiny-eyed fiancées (whose eyelids are wrinkle-free).

Great crowfoots in literature: Charlotte Perkins Gilman puts the buttercup above those thousand jaundiced images of which our souls are constituted:

'It makes me think of all the yellow things I ever saw - not beautiful ones like buttercups, but old foul, bad yellow things.'
From The Yellow Wallpaper

What links Mexico, fourteenth wedding anniversaries, instability, pomp, good taste and dignity? Why, the dahlia, of course.

Dahlia by Jef Poskanzer

Finding a fitting description to cover all the species in the genus of this native from el pas azteca (where they're called acoctli) is somewhat tricky. Dahlias come in almost every colour besides blue, the usually (but not always) pointed petals vary between being rolled and flat, and the flower heads can look like anything from peonies to pompons to paper ball decorations.

According to The National Dahlia Society, the dahlia genus is classified into 13 groups. These range from daisy-like simplicity to spider-like slinkiness, but are invariably showy. Rather odd, then, that the flowers are named after the sensible son of a preacher man: the botanist Anders Dahl.

Good for giving to: Couples who've twice overcome the seven-year itch.

Great dahlias in literature: A fiery description from the master of pomp himself:

'The heat was terribly oppressive, and the huge sunlight flamed like a monstrous dahlia with petals of yellow fire.'
From The Picture Of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde

Papilionaceae robinia hispida sounds like some kind of scary melding of a butterfly, a songbird and a snake, but it's actually just a bristly locust. Which is still rather a strange name for the rose acacia plant, with its pink, sweet-pea-like petals.

Robinia hispida

The bristlyness (hispida means hirsute and prickly) describes the plant's seed pods, but its flowers are far more remarkable. Large, hanging clusters of showy blossoms make this native of south east America instantly recognisable - a great boon for those who like to eat flowers. And for those who like to give flowers to their friends: the rose acacia connotes platonic love.

Good for giving to: Friends (even prickly ones).

Great rose acacias in literature: The count is met by visions of serenity and repose:

'The branches of laburnums and rose acacias formed an exquisite framework to the blue velvet curtains.'
Alexander Dumas, The Count of Monte Cristo

PROFILE: #180507              Classification level 8

REAL NAME: Asparagus setaceus

KNOWN ALIASES: Asparagus Fern, Asparagus plumosus, Plumosa fern, Emerald feather

LAST KNOWN WHEREABOUTS: Most active in homeland, South Africa, but frequent confirmed sightings in Europe and North America.

OCCUPATION: House martian/Noxious weed

KNOWN INFORMATION: Adopts guise of fern, but what appear to be harmless leaves are dangerously sharp short branches called cladoles. Inconspicuous white flowers. Carries concealed magenta berries. Sometimes confused for maidenhair fern.

MISC. INTELLIGENCE:Connotes secrecy in floriography.

Asparagus fern by audreyjm529

Good for giving to: Confidentialists.

Whatever happened to 'man's best friend'? Canine qualities were clearly not held in much esteem by the custodians of the Language of Flowers. Else, surely, they would have come up with a kinder connotation for Dog's Bane than deceit.

Not so hasty, now: a little more research reveals that the apostrophe in Dog's Bane indicates a possessive rather than an omission (and a little more yet reveals that the apostrophe and the 'S' have been dropped altogether; these days, it's simply dogbane). Rather than concurring that curs are a curse, the apostrophe in the common name of yore suggested that Apocynum cannabinum was a pest to our much-loved pets.

Apocynum cannabinum (dogbane)

As Greek scholars will confirm, the first bit of the plant's biological binomial is derived from 'apo' (away) and 'kynos' (dog), and the toxic milky stuff that seeps from the reddish stems most certainly has a bite that's a lot more dangerous as than its 'bark'.

The stems may have been a danger to dogs, but proved rather useful to Native Americans who used the hemplike (hence cannabinum) fibres to make nets and clothing. This rather undeceitful usage is quite likely what inspired dogbane's other common name: Indian Hemp.

Good for giving to: Fibbing Fidos.

Great dogbanes in literature: A rather lovely student's poem over here.

It's difficult to picture any ursine creature sporting overalls. Even anthropomorphised chaps like Pooh and Paddington settle for jumpers and jackets rather than trousers. How on earth, then, did Acanthus mollis come to be called Bear's Breeches?

Acanthus mollis by Zornitsa

The same question arises when one discovers the plant's other common name: Sea Holly. There's very little in the racemes of bilaterally symmetrical whitish flowers that suggest any resemblance to the spiky Scottish emblem, even one in an oceanic incarnation.

Artist's Acanthus, a third common name for today's flower, seems to hold most promise. There's a proviso, of course: it holds most promise if one makes a minor adaptation of the name to Architect's Acanthus.

Anyone with who knows Doric isn't just an ugly girl from their fourth-grade class and Ionic isn't the cousin of a Shakespeareian baddie will recognise the leaf of today's flower on the adornments of Corinthian columns.

Good for giving to: Bears with sore heads (acanthus mollis is said to connote misery in floriography).

Find out more about floriography.

Beautiful, bigheaded and always seeking the limelight. No, not the latest C-list celebrity, but the sunflower - guaranteed to be a far more pleasant guest in any home.

Hollywood Farmers' Market by e.t

If you thought sunflowers were just overgrown daisies, you were half right. For starters, although Helianthus annuus is indeed from the Asteraceae family, it doesn't only come in a haughty three-metre high form bearing messages of pride, false appearances and self-import. There are also dwarf varieties, which carry the far gentler connotation of adoration and 'your devout admirer'.

Secondly, not every variety of sunflower looks like a daisy: there's a furry-flowered Teddy Bear, a double-flowered Loddon Gold and multicoloured (cream, yellow and red) Music Box.

Thirdly, garden-variety daisies don't quite have the charm to attract people with refined aesthetic sensibilities - particularly people with only one ear. Thanks to Van Gogh, sunflowers have entered the world of high art in Eurocentric circles.

The Dutch artist wasn't the first to register the delights of the heliotropic hedonists, however. Sunflowers originate from the Americas, where they were reportedly venerated by Inca tribes who considered them to be images of their sun god.

Good for giving to: Shiny, happy people of whom you think highly.

Great sunflowers in literature: Perhaps the paradox of riff-raff mixed with royalty is why the sunflower sometimes connotes false appearances:

'Beyond that end of our establishment which was furthest from the street, was a deserted garden, pathless, and thickly grown with the bloomy and villainous 'jimpson' weed and its common friend the stately sunflower.'
A Tramp Abroad by Mark Twain

It seems something of an oxymoron, but at least today's flower is consistent in its contradictions. White lilac's floriographic connotation of 'youthful looks' calls to mind such seemingly impossible pairings as 'girlish matron' and 'fresh-faced paterfamilias'.

While it may be a struggle to find anyone over forty who's young anywhere other than at heart, there's plenty of proof that white lilacs exist. In fact, they abound - there are several species in the Syringa genus that bear pyramid-shaped clusters of little snowy blossoms. 

White lilacs by bc anna

Sadly, many pure white lilacs aren't as gorgeously scented as their coloured counterparts (unusual, as white flowers are typically stronger smelling), but Syringa reticulate and certain varieties of Syringa X hyacinthiflora buck the trend with their sweet aromas.

Good for giving to: Mutton dressed as lamb and hardy New Hampshirites (Syringa vulgaris is their state flower).

Great white lilacs in literature: An abundance of token references to their scent, but no author sets the lilac in such a spectacular social echelon as Edith Wharton does:

'The bridesmaids' eight bouquets of white lilac and lilies-of-the-valley had been sent in due time, as well as the gold and sapphire sleeve-links of the eight ushers and the best man's cat's-eye scarf-pin;'
The Age of Innocence

This quaint beauty, as its name suggests, alludes coyly (but with very little insight) to that great French institution of l'amour: 'If you love me, you will find it out'. There's no surprise as to the colour, either: usually a pale pinkish white. As for the petals, there are plenty of them, doubled, dense, and intensely fragrant, making Maiden's Blush one of the finest amongst the Alba roses. Very popular with cottagers.

Good for giving to: Grandmothers, aunts, nieces, and anyone with a love of the simple, country life (a real love, Paris Hilton types would probably find the Maiden's Blush too frilly, and any irony may probably escape them).

Find out more about The Daily Flower series and floriography.

Think your family tree goes back a long way? I'd wager it's not a spot on the magnolia's - unless you have some fossilised remnants of family members from 20 million years ago.

Indeed, these gorgeous flowers are older than the bees. As such, when it comes to the birds and the bees, magnolias are designed to do it beetle style. The flower's sturdy female reproductive organs - evolved to withstand the nibbles of bugs - are one of its most distinguishing features, second only to the overwhelming fruity scent that emanates from the showy petals.

Magnolia 1 by DanDee Shots

Star-shaped or gently curved, ivory or cherry-crimson, upright or dangling gracefully downward to expose their attractive anthers, the flowers from any of the 200-odd species in the genus named after the French botanist Charles Magnol are believed to connote nobility or a love of nature.

Good for giving to: Aristocrats and blue-bloods. Especially ones with a bohemian bent.

Great magnolias in literature: While they've appeared sporadically in books by Wharton, Woolf, et al, magnolias are better known for their silver screen and stage performances. Billy Holiday often wore one in her hair, and, of course, there's Steel Magnolias, Magniolia, Magnolia Street, Hotel Magnolia:

Asphodel provides a feast for the eyes of living, and food for the souls of the dead - not to mention the bellies of the beasts that find sustenance in the plant's roots. Unfortunately, nobody has yet been able to validate the claim that Asphodelus ramosus adorns the planes of Hades, but this ancient plant from the Liliaceae family has often been spotted in the Mediterranean countryside.

Although it may not be as old as Hell, asphodel is surely as old as the hills. As well as featuring in Homer's tales, the flower received a detailed write-up in the works of the earlier poet Hesiod sometime around 700 BC. Both these ancient Greeks made strong ties between asphodel and the Underworld, which probably explains why the flower is understood to mean 'my regrets follow you to the grave'.

Also known as king's spear and royal staff ('asphodel' is derived from the Greek word for sceptre), the spring-flowering perennial produces clusters of ghostly white flowers, identifiable by the brownish vein that traverses the tepals.

Good for giving to: Goths, Greek scholars, fairy fanciers and anyone who prickles your conscience.

Great asphodels in literature: Homer's Odysseus notices numerous asphodels in the Underworld:

'When I had told him this, the ghost of Achilles strode off across a meadow full of asphodel, exulting over what I had said concerning the prowess of his son.'

As we start to move into the winter months, many people long for summer, or even spring. For some, the reason for this longing is because they miss the beauty that these seasons have. The flowers that are populous in the warmer months are much harder to come by in the fall and winter. Finding great flowers, whether you plan to give them as a gift or decorate your home, is not as difficult as it may seem. There are quite a few types of flowers that are seen as great for the colder months as autumn and winter start to set in.

One of the most popular flowers in the fall is the sunflower. These gorgeous flowers are seen as a harvest flower, since they are popular during the harvest season. They add a touch of color and happiness to almost any arrangement.

Daisies are generally thought of as more of a spring flower, but pairing bright red or orange gerber daisies with other, more subdued flowers can make for the perfect fall or even winter arrangement for your home.

If you are making an arrangement at home, you may want to consider adding in colored leaves that you find in the autumn, or even berries that you might find in the winter. Firethorn has yellow and red berries, and is frequently used for Christmas decorations.

Adding in a little bit of yellow to your flowers is not difficult, as long as you can find a winter jasmine plant. The gorgeous flowers from this plant start showing up late in November. They will usually last all the way until spring.

Even honeysuckle, which many people think of as a spring or summer plant, blooms with fragrance starting generally in December.

In the fall, many oranges and yellows are used. These colors tend to make us think of autumn, and also help many people appreciate the beauty of the season. In the winter, blues, purples, reds, and greens are much more frequently used. During both seasons, more greenery may be added to the floral arrangements, such as eucalyptus or bamboo. These help brighten the scene and also helps us feel more comfortable with the colder seasons. Today it is becoming more and more easy to find the plants and flowers you are interested in, because not all areas of the world are experiencing the same temperature at the same time. You may find that some flowers are more expensive than in the spring or fall, but almost all flower variations are available year round.

To the uninitiated, it may sound like an antibacterial mouthwash, but floriography goes back to a time when good dentistry wasn't high on people's lists of priorities: the Victorian era.

In an age when priggishness (and bad teeth) were the order of the day (on the surface of it, at any rate), people were sometimes shy of opening their mouths to say what they meant. So someone struck upon the novel idea of 'saying it with flowers' - quite literally.

There's something good-humoured about the colour yellow. And something attractive about Canadians. Fitting, then, that the Canadian Lily, a.k.a. the Wild Yellow Lily, connotes playful beauty in floriography.

Lilium canadense by Priscilla Susan Bury (1793-1869)

A true lily and North American native, Lilium canadense produces numerous nodding blossoms that can grow up to 15 centimetres in diameter.

Good for giving to: Jolly Ottowans.

In the same way that there are more English-speaking people on other land-masses than there are on the Sceptred Isle, there are more Cedars of Lebanon outside the Mediterranean republic. But, in the same way the United Kingdom has embraced English as its lingua franca, those in Beirut (and a little beyond) have chosen the Cedrus libani as the emblem for their national flag.

Cedrus libani

There may only be a few of these needle-leaved evergreens in Lebanon, but they're certainly rather remarkable, with an impressive stature of 40 metres. These trees also take their time about things. You won't spot a flower (a reddish catkin) on any Cedar of Lebanon that hasn't reached full adulthood in human years - and most only blossom at 30. So no showing off and fluttering of eyelashes for these trees during those dfifficult teenage years. Perhaps that's why they were given the meaning of incorruptibility by the floriographers.

Good for giving to: Virtuous virgins (like the ones in Keats's poem).

Great Cedars of Lebanon in literature: They'll dream of their true loves (and some yummy delicacies, temptation damped, perhaps, when they think of the meaning of these trees):

'And still she slept an azure-lidded sleep,
In blanched linen, smooth, and lavender'd,
While he from forth the closet brought a heap
Of candied apple, quince, and plum, and gourd;
With jellies soother than the creamy curd,
And lucent syrups, tinct with cinnamon;
Manna and dates, in argosy transferr'd
From Fez; and spiced dainties, every one,
From silken Samarcand to cedar'd Lebanon.'
From 'The Eve of St. Agnes' by John Keats

Shooting the breeze while sipping on a Sea Breeze may be the way for modern ladies of leisure to alleviate their sorrows, but it's by no means a contemporary method. Cranberry juice cocktails are just today's equivalent of the cranberry flower - considered by the Victorians to connote a cure for heartache.

Vaccinium oxycoccos by BerndH

Vaccinium oxycoccus (which combines the ancient Latin words for a bilberry and an acid berry) is probably better known for its sharp- and dry-tasting pinkish berries, but the flowers themselves are rather lovely in their range of pinkish hues with their folding petals.

It's believed that the word cranberry is an adaptation of craneberry - a name which the plant is said to have acquired either because the berries were favoured by cranes, or because the little 5-cm long flowers atop their stalks are somewhat avian in appearance. Given the colour, flamingoberry would have been far more fun.

Good for giving to: Birds who are feeling blue.

Always ones for a bit of understatement, the Victorian floriographers declared that the mandrake denoted 'an uncommon thing'. An uncommon thing? Take one little look at the Mandragora officinarum and you'll agree that it's a little bit more than just uncommon.

Flowering plant of mandrake by Hanu

It's not so much the bell-like flowers, the sort of pale purple colour that's very easy on the eye, that are the oddities. It's the root - which looks uncannily like a roughly hewn voodoo doll. No wonder people assumed they had magical powers (although I've yet to hear one screaming as it's pulled from the earth).

Drawing of a mandrake from a 7th-century manuscript

Good for giving to: Superstitious strangers.

Great mandrakes in literature: Mr Beckett explains a mandrake myth later revisited by Anthony Hecht:

'Estragon: Wait.
Vladimir: Yes, but while waiting.
Estragon: What about hanging ourselves?
Vladimir: Hmm. It'd give us an erection.
Estragon: (highly excited) An erection!
Vladimir: With all that follows. Where it falls mandrakes grow. That's why they shriek when you pull them up. Did you not know that?
Estragon: Let's hang ourselves immediately!'
From 'Waiting for Godot' by Samuel Beckett

Once upon a time there lived a nymph. Instead of the usual dryadic monikers of forest folk, this particular nymph went by the name of Ida. She was a bit of a fruit fiend - and one day met her misfortune by plucking her favourite treat, a white raspberry, from a thorny bow.

Rubus idaeus from Prof. Dr. Otto Wilhelm Thomé's Flora von Deutschland, '-sterreich und der Schweiz 1885

A nymph she may have been, but Ida had rather human fingertips, filled with a sanguineous substance - just like the rest of us. Only her blood was a little hardier than ours, and caused raspberries for evermore red to be.

Making such a permanent mark on the world is hardly a cause for gloom, however. So perhaps the Victorians assigned the meaning of 'misery' to the flower of Rubus idaeus because the five-petalled, rose-like blossom didn't have the good fortune to acquire the same ruddy hue as its fruit.

Good for giving to: Anyone in need of a thimble.

At last! A flower whose physical characteristics offer more than just a tenuous connection with its floriographic connotation. China roses really can claim to have beauty always new.

Rosa chinensis by Sakurai Midori

How, you ask? Well, unlike the other roses that adorned the gardens of Europe in the late 18th century, Rosa chinensis boasted two fancy new features of a rather Dorian Gray sort.

Not only do the imported orientals darken with age (most uncharacteristic for roses, which normally fade), but the plants produce more than one 'crop' of blooms in a season. Beauty always new indeed!

Good for giving to: Botox victims.

Great China roses in literature: Tom Waits? It must be poetry:

'Will I meet a China rose there in dreamland?
Or does love lie bleeding in dreamland?
Are these days forever and always?'
From 'Flower's Grave'

'My love is like a red, red rose,' opined Mr Burns. Not a deep red rose, we hope. For, in floriography, it is believed that the deep red rose connotes shame. Bashful shame, but shame all the same.

Deep secret by Zixiette

Although it's likely the Victorian floriographers were talking about deep-red roses in general, if they had a specific one in mind, it was probably Deep Secret: or it would have been, if the big-flowered, plummy scarlet tea hybrid wasn't only cultivated in 1977.

As an 'old rose', Deep Secret has all the traditional rose qualities: a strong scent, large velvety petals, longevity and a knack for attracting the eye of anyone who passes it. So, whether or not it connotes shame, you can be sure you'll have someone blushing if you give them one - but they'll be blushing with happiness. (You can always stick to the gorgeous Grand Prix roses though, if you're wary of conveying mixed messages)

Good for giving to: Shameless hussies.

Great deep red roses in literature: A reference from Wilkie Collins, in a chapter (perhaps tellingly?) entitled 'The Bride's Mistake':

On her head is a bonnet to match, relieved by a quilling of white muslin with one deep red rose, as a morsel of positive color, to complete the effect of the whole dress.
From Law and the Lady

Rudbeckia hirta isn't Netherglish for a dirty-mouthed animal that's been injured. Au contraire, it's the floriographic symbol for pure-mindedness. How d'ya explain that shiner, then, when you discover that Rudbeckia hirta is better know as Black-eyed Susan?

Black-eyed Susan by Shannon

Black-eyed Susan may have a dark heart, but her leaves are sunshine yellow and her inflorescence can grow to a whopping 30 cm across - an appearance perhaps better suited to her epithet Gloriosa Daisy (she is a true child of the Asteraceaes).

She does court trouble, however. Black-eyed Susan is the flower used by enamoured damsels to determine whether he loves them: or loves them not.

Good for giving to: Good girls who can't quite guess someone's intentions.

Great Black-eyed Susans is literature: Does a song from the great Moz count?:

'Oh, Black-eyed Susan
What don't you believe in?
'No is always easier than yes''
From 'Black-Eyed Susan' on My Early Burglary Years

Aah, where would the colonial madams have been without their G&Ts? Indeed, where would many of us be! It's no wonder the flower of the coniferous juniper bush is said to connote protection.

Juniperus communis from Flora von Deutschland, '-sterreich und der Schweiz 1885

Juniper flowers aren't anywhere nearly as exciting as the plum-coloured juniper berries. And while gin might be great to sweeten the mood for mingling, the fact that Juniperus communis is monoecious means that the little yellow male flowers don't spend much time socialising in the company of the green female flowers. Which is, one must concede, protection of another sort.

Good for giving to: Anyone on a hit-list.

Great junipers in literature: Not quite as protective as silver and garlic, perhaps:

'A little ways off, beyond a line of scattered juniper trees, which marked the pathway to the church, a white dim figure flitted in the direction of the tomb.'
From Dracula by Bram Stoker

Craziness, certainly; infidelity, you bet. But ardour? Since when has a cuckoo symbolised great enthusiasm, let alone fiery love? Since those Victorian floriographers decided that it would be an apt association for the cuckoo flower.

Wiesenschaumkraut by Kathrin Tausch

This mysterious pairing of flower and meaning becomes a little clearer when we learn that Cardamine pratensis (which translates roughly as 'cress family member of the field') was named after our philandering feathered friend for no other reason than an overlap between their blooming and cooing times.

Certainly there's no physical resemblance between cuculus canorus and the cuckoo plant. There's not much resemblance between that flower and a milkmaid's dress really, either, but sufficient for someone to have christened the plant with its other common name, lady's smock.

It could be that we're just missing the obvious link between an inch-wide flower with four lilac or white petals and six yellow stamens and the habitual garb of a dairy damsel. Somehow, though it seems unlikely. Perhaps the botanists of yore just washed down their cress salads with a little too much wine when they were naming this flower.

Good for giving to: Wanton wives, here-and-there husbands and zealous paramours.

Great cuckoo flowers in literature: A little nod to the meadow inhabitant in Dante Gabriel Rossetti's poem, 'Spring':

'Chill are the gusts to which the pastures cower,
And chill the current where the young reeds stand
As green and close as the young wheat on land
Yet here the cuckoo and cuckoo-flower
Plight to the heart Spring's perfect imminent hour
Whose breath shall soothe you like your dear one's hand.'

'We seek him here, we seek him there; those Frenchies seek him everywhere. Is he in heaven?Is he in hell? That demmed, elusive Pimpernel.'

Anagallis arvensis by Jean-Jacques Milan

Elusive as Baroness Emmuska Orczy's fictional hero may be, his floral namesake is a lot easier to track down. The small, red Anagallis arvensis flower that served as a signature on the aristocratic action man's missives is such a common sight around its native Europe that it's considered a weed.

But prevalence is certainly no synonym for unsightliness in the case of the scarlet pimpernel. The flowers are indeed as charming as Sir Percy Blakeney - and equally good masters of disguise. For when the weather begins to blacken, the scarlet pimpernel furls its five bright petals towards the central purple spot so that just the greenish undersides are exposed.

This sensitivity to the elements explains how the scarlet pimpernel became known as Shepherd's Barometer and Poor Man's Weatherglass, and why the flower is sometimes said to connote change, but it does nothing to elucidate the floriographic connotation 'faithlessness'. Although, seeing as Anagallis arvensis translates as 'amusing of the field', perhaps the joke is on us.

Good for giving to: Blue-blooded paladins and social chameleons.

Great pimpernels in literature:: Tennyson remarks on the early-to-bed habits of the flower:

'The slender acacia would not shake
One long milk-bloom on the tree;
The white lake-blossom fell into the lake,
As the pimpernel dozed on the lea;'
From 'Come into the Garden, Maud'

It doesn't take a genius to work out why floriographers associated the flower of vitis vinifera with intoxication. And little more nous is needed to understand the logic behind Bach's use of grape flower in an essence designed to mellow out monocrats.

Vitis vinifera from Koehler's Medicinal-Plants (1887)

Despite their impressive scent and the kudos that comes from the fruit, vine flowers are otherwise unimpressive: small and, rather predictably, light green. They're also kind of shy, curiously - or perhaps there's another reason that they take a year to appear on the woody stems of the plant.

Good for giving to: Bacchanalians.

Great vine flowers in literature: It's not quite high art, but it's a story nonetheless:

'The men and boys wear doppas with grape flowers on them because grapes are so very important to us [:] Even my name tells everyone how much we love our grapes. The "gul" at the end of my name - Hajigul - means 'grape flower'.'
Marianne Saccardi, Hajigul's Story

Fancy some codlins and cream this evening, primrose? Perhaps with your kaporie tea?

Great willowherb blossom by Andre Karwath

Depending where in the world you find yourself, you'll discover a different nickname for great willowherb, the purply-pink, white-throated, four-petalled flowerer of the Onagraceae family.

Perhaps this profusion of soubriquets is the reason why floriographers assigned willowherb the meaning 'pretension'. Or perhaps it's the fact that Epilobium hirsutum (so named for its hairy stem and tufted seeds) is a bit of a mountebank is its emission of moss rose and fresh apple scents - which is nothing if not putting on airs if you're a little one-inch blossom considered a weed in many parts of the world.

Good for giving to: Charlatans and scarlet fans.

Great willowherbs in literature: Grevel Lindop unmasks their treachery in images:

'The knitwork tapestry of furballed goosegrass,
pink spikes of willowherb have run her through

but still the unstaunched spring whispers and sings
and will not let her rest and turn to earth

but long past hope still sets the empty heart
echoing to the perpetual music of water.'

From a poem in Playing with Fire

Blueberry, blaeberry, bilberry, huckleberry, whortleberry - whatever you choose to call it, the botanists clearly favoured the fruit over the flower. But flower indeed Vaccinium myrtillus does, albeit rather unimposingly.

Vaccinum myrtillus by BerndH

Look closely at the stalks of this Eurasian shrub while you're concocting recipes for juices and jams that use its as-yet unborn fruit, and you'll notice some tiny translucent pinky-green bells, about 5 mm wide and edged with delicate little retroussé lobes, hanging tout seul or in pairs: whortleberry flowers.

These tiny globular blossoms with their waxy texture eventually develop into tasty dark blue berries  (whortle is alleged to derive from the Old French word heurte, an azure-coloured ball) with a diameter of about 10 mm and a propensity for appearing in the ingredients list of herbal products.

Despite its positive properties, too much whortleberry tincture used in conjunction with anticoagulants is said to prevent the stemming of blood. One can only imagine that a Victorian floriographer had a run-in of this sort with the whortleberry, for why else would such a sweet little flower be said to symbolise treachery?

Good for giving to: Anyone with a Judas complex.

Great whortleberries in literature:: R.D. Blackmore's John encounters the little blighters in that romance of Exmoor, Lorna Doone:

'He stopped his little nag short of the crest, and got off and looked ahead of him, from behind a tump of whortles.'

Picturing something called scabious that's blood red and encased in a crust of green needn't get you visualising a suppurating wound. There's a far more pleasant alternative: Scabiosa atropurpurea.

Scabious by Takashi Tomooka

The lush, fragrant pincushion of purpling petals looks far more like a plump double aster than a scab, which rules out the possibility that the flower's appearance inspired either its botanical name or its floriographic connotation, 'unfortunate attachment'.

Rather, scabiosa is known for its skin-healing properties and the fact that English widows were rather partial to wearing the atropurpurea variety in the 1700s - which also explains the flower's other common names: mourning bride and mournful widow.

Good for giving to: Bereaved brides and mismatched paramours.

Great sweet scabiouses in literature: In 1697, William Congreve penned a play entitled The Mourning Bride. You might not know his name, but you've more than likely dispensed his wisdom:

'Heav'n has no Rage, like Love to Hatred turn'd, Nor Hell a Fury, like a Woman scorn'd.'

Naked ladies have been known to cause curious side-effects amongst those with sensitive dispositions. Incoordination and salivation? Perhaps. Collapse? Maybe. But abdominal pain and severe diarrhoea? This can't be any old naked lady we're talking about - it must be Colchicum autumnale, the highly poisonous autumn crocus, a.k.a. meadow saffron.

Autumn Crocus by bc anna

It may be bad on the inside, but the autumn crocus is all good on the outside. Six slender purplish petals and slinky golden stamens combine to create a showy and attractive flower head.

The blossoms often appear long after the leaves have died, giving the stems a rather bare appearance. Perhaps this indecent exposure - or perhaps the noxious toxins within - compelled the Victorians to see the autumn crocus as shorthand for 'my best days fled'.

Good for giving to: Miserablists and scopophiles.

Great autumn crocuses in literature: Before she wrote One Hundred and One Dalmatians, Dodie Smith penned a play called Autumn Crocus.

Imagine if Paris Hilton were called Chastity Wittier. That's a bit what it's like for lily of the valley. It's not really a lily, if you define lilies as belonging to the genus lilium, and it's more commonly found in woods. True, lily of valley is also found in valleys, but so has the hotel heiress taken a vow of celibacy for a year.

Lily of the valley by bc anna

Like Paris, lily of the valley isn't known for its exploits in just a single field.

Its racemes of little nodding bell-shaped flowers in pearly white are model pretty, complete with six scalloped edges - the plant-world equivalent of a retroussé nose.

Lily of the valley also has its own lovely perfume (which doesn't only appeal to our noses) and works a sideline in tugging on the heart. No, not as an actor, but as a cardiac tonic, which apparently has a similar but milder effect to the one made from foxgloves.

What's more, in floriography, the lily of valley represents 'return of happiness', which sounds like it could have been a B-side to the single 'Stars are Blind'.

Good for giving to: Finns (it's their national flower) and convalescing saddos.

Great lilies of the valley in literature Not only beautiful, but scented - and useful, too, in W. Somerset Maugham's analogy:

'I don't care a damn for morality: teaching doesn't come in, ethics and all that, but passion and emotion. The greatest portrait painters have painted both, man and the intention of his soul; Rembrandt and El Greco; it's only the second-raters who've only painted man. A lily of the valley would be lovely even if it didn't smell, but it's more lovely because it has perfume.'
From Of Human Bondage

Yeah but no but yeah but: Without doubt, gloxinia is the Vicky Pollard of the flower world. First off, there seems much debate about its family tree. Is gloxinia the same as sinningia? And why do some people call them Canterbury bells if Canterbury bells are actually campanulas (the genus that includes harebells)?

Despite the confusion, gloxinia, like Vicky, is one of a kind. Well, yeah but no but three of a kind, actually, if you want to get technical. Still, it's rather unique for there to be just three species in a single plant genus.

Like Vicky, gloxinia are fans of eyeshadow and lipstick hues - or one hopes they are, as the five-lobed, bell-shaped flowers (complete with a hairy exterior and heart-shaped leaves) are predominantly a kitsch lilac or gaudy tangerine colour.

Gloxinia sylvatica (red-flowered form)

The plant also has scaly rhizomes, and it seems certain that Vicky's equivalent of a root system would fit that same description. And while the jury is still out on whether the Little Britain star qualifies as exotic, there's no doubt that the Columbo-Peruvian gloxinia does.

The real disparity between the two, however, only really becomes apparent when it comes to floriography: gloxinia connotes 'love at first site'.

Good for giving to: Chavs. And the wives of millionaires (see below).

Great gloxinia in literature: One day Vicky may find her (inner) man:

'He presented to the world the appearance of a careless and hospitable millionaire strolling into his own drawing-room with the detachment of an invited guest, and saying: 'My wife's gloxinias are a marvel, aren't they?''
Edith Wharton, The Age of Innocence

If the dande in dandelion were actually derived from dandy, coquetry would be a most apt floriographic connotation for this flower. Alas, it's a taming of the French for 'lion's tooth' - which must surely be a description of the serrated leaves of Taraxacum officinale.

Dandelion with raindrops by tanakawho

There are arguably other leonine features of this daisy-family flower. The rosette of golden petals eventually becomes a fluffy white mane of filaments that we know as a dandelion clock.

Blowing on the orb of seeds is meant to tell the time, but one would do far better to observe the flower in its yellow-petalled form, for it's wont to close at night, and, as such, is likely to be a more accurate means of determining the hour.

Following their popularity as clocks, dandelions are probably best-known as an ingredient in dandelion wine. Fans of the little yellow floral rosettes who are of more sober habit may be pleased to know they can indulge in dandelion without getting tipsy - the flowers can also be used to make jam.

Good for giving to: Roaring Romeos.

Great dandelions in literature: Peter Panner J.M. Barrie describes the man behind Queen Mab's chair:

'Lord Chamberlain, who carries a dandelion on which he blows when Her Majesty wants to know the time'
From The Little White Bird

Voodoo lily, dragon arum, dragon plant - call it what you will, there's no escaping the monstrous Arum dracunculus, a.k.a. Dracunculus vulgaris.

Even its camo-patterned stem can't hide the fact that it's this plant that's causing a stink with its foul aroma of foetid, rotting flesh. No wonder it connotes trepidation in floriography, and issues the warning 'you are near a snare'.

Dracunculus vulgaris by jaja_1985

But any attempt to describe today's gothic delight of a flower pales beside this description of the slimy spadix and violet-lipped spathe proffered by E.A. Bowles:

'[...] the most fiendish plant I know of, the sort of thing Beelzebub might pluck to make a bouquet for his mother-in-law [...] it looks as if it had been made out of a sow's ear for the spathe, and the tail of a rat that died of Elephantiasis for the spadix. The whole thing is mingling of unwholesome greens, livid purples, and pallid pinks, the livery of putrescence in fact, and it possesses and odour to match the colouring.'
From My Garden in Spring (1914)
(via www.gardendigest.com)

Good for giving to: Well, Beelzebub's mother-in-law, of course.

For those with a first date coming up, it can be a nervous time.  What to wear, where to take her, what will you talk about.  To guarantee she will come away from the date with a smile on her face, surprise her with a beautiful bouquet when you collect her for the date.

The gesture of presenting your date with flowers will set your evening off to a great start, and show her how much you care.  If you've known your date for a while, or have friends in common, go to the extra effort of finding out her favourite flowers before hand.  This will show the thought and effort that no end of expensive restaurants could ever hope to do.

Make your first date as memorable as possible, and ensure that if you're still together in years to come she is remembering fondly that you turned up to surprise her with flowers on that important first date.

There are so many bouquets to choose from, to suit different budgets and tastes, from different online flower shops, you are sure to find something that certain lady will love.

Information brought to you by Serenata Flowers - awarded Which? magazine's Best Flower Delivery Service 2011

Flowers are a well-loved gift, a token of affection, and a cause for celebration.

But different varieties have different meanings, from the traditional to the modern, and you can mix flowers together to get a different message across.

Even different colours of the same variety of flower can have a distinctly different meaning - and it could be a good idea to make sure you're not announcing your undying love for your mother-in-law, or expressing gratitude to a new-born child by mistake if you choose to order flowers for delivery.

Here are the meanings of some of the most popular flowers:

Red roses: the ultimate statement bouquet, screams "I love you" in sultry, smouldering red tones.

Yellow roses: for saying "I'm sorry", yellow roses are the apology flowers.

Red and white roses together: the perfect flowers for an anniversary, red and white roses entwined signify "unity".

Orange lily: vibrant and stunning, orange lilies are the epitome of passion.

Pink carnations: the symbol of motherly love.

Orchids: a declaration of refined beauty.

Geraniums: the peak of gentility.

Cherry blossom: these represent a good education, the perfect gift for someone who's off to university.

Information brought to you by Serenata Flowers - awarded Which? magazine's Best Flower Delivery Service 2011

Why did the cowslip? Because it saw the bullrush. Well, that's what the kids in the playground assert. But the Victorians suspected the little yellow primrose to have lost its balance for another reason, it seems - dreaminess. Or why else did they attribute it the meaning 'pensiveness' in floriography?

Primula veris by Rasbak

There are actually a number of plausible hypotheses: because the Eurasian beauty's sweet fragrance evokes poetic thoughts; because its umbels of golden rosettes were contemplating their mysterious close cousin the scarlet pimpernel; because it was navel-gazingly admiring the rubine spots on its petals; or, more likely, because it was tripping on its own juices, which are the key ingredient in cowslip wine.

Those with a knack for languages are unlikely to entertain such romantic speculations, however. They know that the common name of Primula veris probably had nothing to do with losing one's footing. A far more plausible theory is that cowslip is a bastardisation of cow's leek, a derivation from the Anglo-Saxon word leac meaning plant.

Good for giving to: Unsteady dreamers.

Great cowslips in literature: A thought-provoking quotation from a Victorian novelist:

''Smile like the knot of cowslips on the cliff,
Not to be come at by the willing hand.''
From Middlemarch by George Eliot

Here's a cunning plant; a master of disguise. As well as bearing unremarkable little clusters of flowers, it managed to get itself reclassified as a sorrel in the Rumex genus. Not such a biggie, you might think, until you discover that there's quite a bit of difference between the two.

Rumex crispus (curled dock), one of the docks originally classified in the genus Lapathum,

According to Mrs M. Grieve's A Modern Herbal, dock flowers are hermaphrodite, while sorrel flowers have stamens and pistils on different plants. To further confuse us, the plant's greenish flowers are a far cry from the brownish orange colour known as sorrel. No wonder the floriographers accorded dock the meaning 'shrewdness'.

Good for giving to: Dear Prudences.

Great docks in literature: There are numerous references to the plant called sorrel, but far fewer to the classic dock:

'Nor were their ornaments like those in use to-day, set off by Tyrian purple, and silk tortured in endless fashions, but the wreathed leaves of the green dock and ivy, wherewith they went as bravely and becomingly decked as our Court dames with all the rare and far-fetched artifices that idle curiosity has taught them.'
From Don Quixote by Miguel Cervantes

Is it a bit of a cheek featuring the jonquil as a separate flower to the daffodil? They certainly look rather alike.

Narcissus jonquilla by pancakeman157

The American Daffodil Societysociety would probably be inclined to agree. According to their classification system, jonquils refer exclusively to species in division 7 and 10: Narcissus jonquilla and its hybrids.

Floriographers are also keen to split hairs - or meanings at least. Jonquils connote longings, while daffodils mean chivalry and unrequited love.

But how does one spot the difference, especially since jonquils are the same size and buttery yellow or white colour as many other narcissi flowers? Well, it's said that these southern European natives exude a stronger citrussy scent, but the real difference is in the leaves. Jonquilla is derived from a Latin word for reed, a reference to the flower's distinctive foliage.

Good for giving to: Wistful ones.

Great jonquils in literature: A jaundiced eye on these particular narcissi courtesy of Mr Wilde:

'Summer followed summer, and the yellow jonquils bloomed and died many times, and nights of horror repeated the story of their shame, but he was unchanged.'
From The Picture Of Dorian Gray

Perceptions must've been wont for changing in the 1800s, if cress (or cresses as it was called back in the day) is anything to go by. For in the annals of floriography, this little member or the mustard family has connoted variously 'roving', 'stability' and 'power'.

Lepidium sativum

Power's one that's easy to understand - not only is cress prized by kitchen gurus for its potent peppery flavour, but the botanical name Lepidium sativum translates roughly as a cultivated little scale, which sounds a bit like another way of describing justice or, rather, a legal system.

Cress doesn't pack much punch in the body, though. Whether the golden- or green-leaved variety, at 0 calories per 100g, it's the kind of thing Posh must go wild for.

The flowers of the cress plant are almost as miniscule as its calorific value. Petal colour can vary from white to pink, but their size rarely extends beyond a couple of millimetres in length.

Good for giving to: Nomadic dieters with a Napoleon complex.

Great cress in literature: Fondly remembered by E.M. Forester:

'Her hat, which was flowery, resembled those punnets, covered with flannel, which we sowed with mustard and cress in our childhood, and which germinated here yes, and there no.'
From Howards End

Ginseng's renowned as a stress-buster, so it's quite curious that the Victorians considered the closely related ivy sprig to be a symbol of anxiety. Not nail-biting stuff, really; just an anxiety to please.

Hedera hibernica by Júlio Reis

That's not the only floriographic connotation of the ivy sprig, however. A spray of Hedera hibernica (which translates as Irish ivy, although some call the plant Atlantic ivy) is also said to connote both affection and longings.

Ivy sprigs are better known for their rich emerald palmate leaves than they are for their blossoms. A possible explanation for this is that sprigs with five-pointed leaves don't bear any - you need to look for the unlobed leaves if you're hoping to find ivy flowers.

Don't expect anything too fancy though, for they're somewhat unremarkable clusters of tiny greeny-yellow or whitish flowers. They are pollen packed late in the season, though, and much sought after by insects.

Good for giving to: Fancy typesetters (they are sure to be fond of the hedera dingbat �).

Great ivy sprigs flowers in literature: One wonders which floriographic connotation Virginia Woolf had in mind:

''Katharine, Katharine,' he said aloud, and then, looking round, saw Mary walking slowly away from him, tearing a long spray of ivy from the trees as she passed them.'
From Night and Day

Silks and tassels sound more like something you'd encounter in the courts of law than on the lawns of corn, which is where they're actually found.

Maize plant, Zea mays by burgkirsch

They're not what you might expect, either. A silk is actually a female flower of the corn plant (Zea mays), referencing the wispy stiles that look more like the hair of Dougal from the Magic Roundabout than silk. Tassels are the male flowers that carry the pollen.

In a neat little mathematical trick, corn flowers prove that 1+1=1. How, you ask? Simple: each pollinated silk develops into a single corn kernel. Keen to argue the logic? Just wave your corn flower to let everyone know - in floriography, they connote 'quarrel'.

Good for giving to: Wrangling maize-munchers and bickering number crunchers.

It smells amazing. Its essential oils are highly sought after. It stops weird things growing in your beer. It's got a great sense of direction (how many social climbers do you know who only move in a clockwise direction?). It's even used to make a dye. With so many good things going for it, the hop plant need hardly worry about the fact that it's not exactly a looker.

Humulus lupulus, female inflorescence, by Bernd Haynold

The Victorians saw things differently, though, I think. They've assigned Humulus lupulus the connotation of 'injustice'. And since the bine is so mighty fine in other respects, they could only have done so in the belief that it was a divine injustice to make such a useful plant so spectacularly unremarkable looking.

Or maybe the injustice is in the fact that a single hop plant can only bear either male or female flowers. But the Victorians would probably have like that kind of segregation, so I'll stick with my aesthetic aspersions. Unless, of course, it's something to do with the fact that the hop flower, that sneaky little willow wolf, is a member of then the Cannabaceae family:

Good for giving to: Lager louts and others who are unfairly discriminated against.

Great hop flowers in literature: Every beer is a liquid ode to this flower.

Fie indeed! What flower did the Victorians intend by cabbage? Did they mean the cabbage flower, a particular daylily from the genus Hemerocallis? Did they mean the stinky Symplocarpus foetidus, a.k.a. the skunk cabbage flower? Or, more simply, did they mean that little-noted inflorescence that grows on species in the Brassica genus?

Brassica oleracea var. acephala by Chuuken Hachigou

Perhaps the solution is to attempt a logical deduction from the floriographic connotation of cabbage, which is recorded as 'self-willed'. And 'profit'. Hmmm, unlikely to be the one with the rank smell or the one with the pretty frills. So, it must be Brassica oleracea var. acephala, the flowering wild cabbage.

To stand out from the greenery, unlike the boxwood flower, cabbage flowers are both brightly coloured and numerous. The four little saffron-tinted petals form a golden cross, which look rather dashing against the purplish leaves.

Good for giving to: Headstrong entrepreneurs.

Great flowering cabbages in literature: Who knows whether O. Henry is talking about the fumes of boiled leaves or the scent of delicate petals?

'In Cypher's she belonged--in the bacon smoke, the cabbage perfume, the grand, Wagnerian chorus of hurled ironstone china and rattling casters.'
From The Four Million (not Cabbages And Kings!)

Most often spotted at service stations and other such insalubrious spots, chrysanthemums are nonetheless rather regal flowers. Well, at least some of the varieties in this numerous-specied genus in the Asteraceae family are. And not just the 'golden flowers' which gave chrysanthemums their botanical name.

Shamrock green chrysanthemums in our Summer Meadow arrangement

The flowers are particularly admired in China, where the official Emperor's crest is called the kikukamonsh�, which translates as Chrysanthemum Crest. But be wary of surprising eastern royals with a bunch of whites, which are apparently a symbol of lament in in the People's Republic.

Chrysanthemums are actually attributed various meanings according to their colours. White mostly seems to be a symbol of truth, pink and red are for those in love, and yellow is for slighted lovers (curious how yellows often form the crux of most tacky supermarket bouquets). Victorian floriographers had a much less complicated approach - they simply saw the flowers as symbols of cheerfulness.

An array of new varieties (pom-poms, decorative, miniature) and colours (including the gorgeous shamrock green) have made their way into the world of floristry and become popular stalwarts because of their longevity. Except in Malta, one would imagine, if there's any truth in the rumour that the island inhabitants consider chrysanthemums indoors to be a portent of bad luck.

Good for giving to: People who need a little laughter and happiness in their home, if you believe the Feng Shuists theories.

Great chrysanthemums in literature: Stephen Crane's character turns up his nose at the fancy-pants petals:

'Above all things he despised obvious Christians and ciphers with the chrysanthemums of aristocracy in their button-holes.'
From Maggie: A Girl of the Streets

Are stoics just those who're waiting to be noticed? The flower of the boxwood tree, which connotes stoicism in floriography, certainly fits that description.

Buxus semperviren by Prof. Dr. Otto Wilhelm Thomé (Flora von Deutschland, '-sterreich und der Schweiz)

The Buxus semperviren tree itself is fairly well known in topiary circles, but the flowers are more often than not described as inconspicuous.

Scale and colour are certainly not on their side: tiny and usually a greenish-yellow hue, it's little wonder they're hardly remarked upon, or even noticed. But sure as Zeno, they'll keep growing without making a fuss about it.

Good for giving to: Dispassionate pugilists.

Great boxwoods in literature: La-di-da bushwork in Willa Cather's My Antonia:

'He felt his way through the lilacs, along the boxwood hedge, up to the south wing of the Big House, where Miss Nellie d'Arnault practised the piano every morning.'

A pheasant's eye and a dashing young man are seldom seen together in a list of beautiful things. Unless, of course, the compiler of said list is a botanical savant who knows that the two can be one in the same thing.

Adonis annua by Alberto Salguero

Adonis annua, the pretty little scarlet flower from the buttercup family, is commonly referred to as pheasant's eye, but it has a string of other names that allude to Aphrodite's handsome young beau who met a sticky end on a boar's tusk.

A dark central spot, black anthers and deep red petals make it easy to understand how mythmakers saw fit to say the flower sprang from drops of blood. In France, the flower is named Goute de sang, while, in other parts of the world, it's dubbed Love lies bleeding.

The Victorians must have empathised with poor Aphrodite when they were doling out floriographic connotations. Although, come to think of it, one was perhaps more likely to want to express 'sorrowful recollections' than 'bird's eye view' in the language of flowers.

Good for giving to: Melodramatic mistresses.

Great Adonises in literature: Buttercup-lover William Wordsworth composed a whole poem in honour of the flower:

'You call it, Love lies bleeding, - so you may,
Though the red flower, not prostrate, only droops,
As we have seen it here from day to day,
From month to month, life passing not away:
A flower how rich in sadness! [...]'
From 'Love Lies Bleeding'

Fancy a bit of fireworks? The Pincushion protea should really be the flower of the day for 5 November, if looks are anything to go by.

Pincushion proteas and calla lilies in serenata Flower's Karma Sumatra hand-tie

The bright-red and orange inflorescences of Leucospermum cordifolium (which roughly translates as white-seeded and with heart-shaped leaves) are actually comprised of lots of little flowers whose upright styles are the colourful 'pins' that give the plant its common name.

Indigenous to South Africa, the Pincushion protea doesn't seem to have been considered by the Victorian floriographers. If they'd thought about it, though, chances are they would have chosen a meaning such as 'needling' or 'explosive'.

Good for giving to: Pyrotechnicians and South Africans (the protea is their national flower).

Here's a conundrum: do we call chartreuse a 'spirit' because it's flavoured by Angelica, a.k.a. Holy Ghost, or is that how Angelica archangelica acquired its common name?

Angelica archangelica from Koehler's Medicinal-Plants 1887

Most probably neither. And it's probably also just a coincidence that the umbels of tiny yellow-green flowers are coloured so similarly to the liqueur. It's no coincidence, though, that angelica is sometimes called wild celery or wild parsnip: the aromatic plant is a culinary favourite and great salad ingredient.

Angelica is also a popular medicinal herb, used to make reviving tonics and to get rid of flatulence, colic and cramps. You could call it an inspired floral friend; the Victorians certainly did - or, at any rate, assigned it the floriographic connotation of 'inspiration'.

Good for giving to: Bland boozers in need of a muse.

Great angelicas in literature: Jack London is probably talking about the aquavit, not the flower, but it must be one that's flavoured by the Holy Ghost:

'Down in the bottom of a deep locker he found a dozen bottles of angelica and muscatel.'
From John Barleycorn

Say hello to the kitchen garden goddess who adds seductive flavour to breads and cakes. Nope, not Ms Lawson, but another much-admired Nigella: Nigella damascena.

Nigella damascena by microbophile

Unlike today's flower, the author of Feast most likely isn't refered to as Devil in the Bush, Love in a Snarl, or even Love in a Puzzle by her friends, but she doesn't suffer from split ends. Neither does Love in a Puzzle, really, but the flower acquired its common names from the tatty hair-like bracts that encase it.

Neither is Love in a Puzzle as dark and mysterious in its features as the celebrity chef. The word Nigella does come from the Latin word for black, but the colour is a reference to the plant's seeds rather than its watery blue sepals.

It's tricky to see how the Victorians associated this lovely flower from the buttercup family with faux pas, but let's hope it's the only Nigella that will be synonymous with 'embarrassment'.

Good for giving to: Unconfidential kitcheners.

Pamela Lillian Isley and Kristy Wallace are two names that might not ring any bells - apart from alarm bells, that is. For those are the given names of a redhead comic-strip vixen and a psychobilly guitarist who are both better known as Poison Ivy: named after the vine that's renowned for its 'rash behaviour'.

Toxicodendron radicans from Prof. Dr. Otto Wilhelm Thomé Flora von Deutschland, '-sterreich und der Schweiz 1885
(source: www.biolib.de)

It's not just the innocent-looking leaves of poison ivy that are deceptive, it's the name as well - and in more ways than one.

Firstly, poison ivy's botanical name is Toxicodendron radicans (or Rhus toxicodendron), which reveals that it insn't a true ivy of the hedera genus.

Secondly, poison ivy is not 100 per cent poisonous 100 per cent of the time. The toxicity is quite a subjective affair, affecting only those who have an urushiol intolerance.Alas, those people are rather few and far between, so it's best to heed the 'warning' that poison ivy connotes in floriography. 'Leaves of three, let it be' and all that:

Good for giving to: Batman, if you don't like him.

Great poison ivies in literature: Three lines that warn of the three-leaved threat:

'Streaming vine of red
Wrapped around brown bark of tree
Warning of danger'
Haiku #17 Poison Ivy  by Denise Girod.

Caltha palustris
Ya ha deedle deedle, bubba bubba deedle deedle dum.
All day long I'd biddy biddy bum.
Caltha palustris
I wouldn't have to work hard.
Ya ha deedle deedle, bubba bubba deedle deedle dum.
Biddy biddy king,
Yidle-diddle-didle-didle cup.

The Fiddler on the Roof, a la floriography. As anyone au fait with the language of flowers will tell you, Caltha palustris (more commonly known as kingcup or marsh marigold; more ignominiously known as may blobs) is shorthand for 'I wish I were rich'.

Kingcup by mwri

Funnily enough, if you find yourself in dire financial straits with a desire to drown your sorrows, kingcup's a good friend to have. It won't buy you a drink, but it will offer you one of its heart-shaped leaves to chew on. A few more, and you'll find yourself feeling a tad intoxicated.

Bright yellow and bowl-shaped, this little cup of the marshes is immediately recognisable as a member of the Ranunculaceae family. In fact, the flowers look like a slightly waxier version of the buttercup. You can eat the flowers too (without the risk of getting tipsy) - they're said to be a good substitute for capers.

Good for giving to: Money-hungry dreamers.

Great kingcups in literature: Featured in a love poem, where surely it's referenced for its beauty rather than its connotation:

All round our nest, far as the eye can pass,
...Are golden kingcup-fields with silver edge
...Where the cow-parsley skirts the hawthorn-hedge.
'Tis visible silence, still as the hour-glass.

From 'Silent Noon' by Dante Gabriel Rossetti

Kingcup - The Daily Flower for 9 March

They say every rose has one, but it might be time to question the seriousness of such a claim. Sincerity (and severity, but in bad times, whose splitting hairs?) may be what thorns connote, but are those bona fide pokers we see on the rose?

Apparently not: "Roses lack true thorns since their prickles emerge from the epidermis rather than the pericycle". So it looks like we're going to be splitting hairs after all, as this, technically speaking, makes the rose's protrusion a prickle.

Real thorns (not prickles) by pixie

Both prickles and thorns are part of the larger botanical category spines. Their bite may be as bad as their bark, but in reality, spines are just psychotic leaf- or branch-ends. And watch out if someone gives you a black one; it means difficulty is on the horizon (or maybe they just think you're, errr, um, a bit sharp.)

Good for giving to: Those who poke, but don't poke fun.

Great thorns in literature: A sincere but rather difficult request:

All night long you must sing to me, and the thorn must pierce your heart, and your life-blood must flow into my veins, and become mine.
From The Happy Prince and Other Tales by Oscar Wilde

Thorn - The Daily Flower for 2 March

Is it a rash? Is it a rock? Is it a vivid lavender colour? No. How about a surveying instrument? No again. A rock song? Nope. Don't give up yet, though. This is an exercise in 'remaining true' to your course.

If you can do that, then you most certainly deserve a reward. Tonight, Matthew, your prize shall be: a taste of Cherry Pie, a peek at St Helena, a hint of Summer or a Seaside view. And therein lies the answer of the heliotrope: the purple-blossomed flowers of the Heliotropium genus that boasts species with the aforementioned delightful names - and which connote devotion in floriography.

Heliotropium arborescens by Stan Shebs

Delightful names they may be, but they're definitely apt ones. The motto of the South Atlantic island St Helena is 'Loyal and Unshakeable', while the bright purple blossoms of the summer-flowering plant emit a fragrance that's the envy of Mr Kipling's bakwell tarts. As for Summer, well, that seems rather a fitting epithet for a genus whose etymological origins are 'helios', the Greek word for sun, and 'trope', meaning turning.

Good for giving to: Committed types.

Great heliotropes in literature: The great analytic philosopher refers to a cherry of a memory:

This is illustrated by Turgenev's "Smoke," where the hero is long puzzled by a haunting sense that something in his present is recalling something in his past, and at last traces it to the smell of heliotrope.
From The Analysis of Mind by Bertrand Russell

Heliotrope - The Daily Flower for 1 March

It's got a stem that's described as stout.It has the hypocorism'buttons'.It was a favourite additive to Jack's bourbon concoctions. It contains the sameconvulsion-causing substance that's found in absinthe. Plus, it has a name derivedfrom the Greek word Athanaton meaningimmortal. All of which makes it pretty clear what kind of 'courage' thetansy connotes in the language of flowers: Dutch.

Who would have thought that Tanacetum vulgare, the little aster family member with its clusters of bright yellow flat-topped flowers and sweet camphory scent, would have such a dark side?

Tanacetum vulgare

Good for giving to: The terminally unbrave.

Great tansies in literature: What dreams of immortality, what visions, lo:

She wished to seat herself on a poor man's grave, where the bitter tansy grew; but for her there was neither peace nor rest; and when she danced towards the open church door, she saw an angel standing there.
From 'The Red Shoes' in Andersen's Fairy Tales by Hans Christian Andersens

Tansy - The Daily Flower for 23 February

Sound the bright red trumpets and wave the victory pennant to herald the arrival of: err, actually, hold on, perhaps we should be quietly piping a little red flute - see, we're not exactly too sure who is arriving. It could be Amaryllis, the flower named after the shepherd girl, or it could be that 'knight star', Hippeastrum, who, confusingly, also goes by the name Amaryllis.

An Amaryllis arrangement at Serenata Flowers

One good thing about this classification conundrum is that it serves as an explanation for the vastly different floriographic connotations attributed to Amaryllis: pride (gallant and knightly), timidity (et in arcadia ego) and splendid beauty (could be said of a pastoral or a plucky person).

Both Amaryllis and Hippeastrum are in the Amaryllidaceae family. And, to add to the confusion, Amaryllis is usually called the Belladonna lily or Naked lady (not to be muddled with Belladonna or Autumn crocus), while if you asked almost anyone for an Amaryllis, they'd hand over the bright red (or perhaps white, or even pink) showy blooms of the gorgeous South American native, Hippeastrum.

Good for giving to: A rightfully arrogant fairytale hero/ine.

Great Amaryllises in literature:

You are ice and fire,
The touch of you burns my hands like snow.
You are cold and flame.
You are the crimson of amaryllis,
The silver of moon-touched magnolias.
When I am with you,
My heart is a frozen pond
Gleaming with agitated torches
'Opal' by Amy Lowell

Amaryllis - The Daily Flower for 22 February

Is it all in that pretty little head of yours?
What goes on in that place in the dark?
Well I used to know a girl and I would have
sworn that her name was Veronica
Well she used to have a carefree mind of her
own and a delicate look in her eye
These days I'm afraid she's not even sure if her
name is Veronica

It's unlikely that dear Mr Costello was warbling about the Christian saint purported to have mopped Christ's brow and thereby imprinted an image of his face on her towel. But it's apparently not so unlikely that the lady in question gave her name to the genus of over 500 species flowering herbs.

Veronica chamaedrys by Anthere

Rumour has it that the purplish blossoms of several Veronica species sport face-like markings, although nobody seems to specify exactly which species these are.

If this fact can be ratified, then props to the Victorian floriographers. For it would make it rather clever of them to have ascribed the meaning of fidelity to Veronica: not because the saint in question was suitably saintly, but because that lesser-used meaning of fidelity (a reproduction of remarkable exactness) matches most neatly with both the legend of the imprinted cloth and the etymology of the word Veronica: a combination of vera (true) and icon (image).

Good for giving to: Travellers (the plant is also called 'speedwell' and 'gypsyweed') who need to stick to their course.

Great Veronicas in literature: While sunlight would cause others to fade:

Yet, though remorse, youth's white-faced seneschal,
Tread on my heels with all his retinue,
I am most glad I loved thee - think of all
The suns that go to make one speedwell blue!
From 'Quia Multum Amavi' by Oscar Wilde

Veronica - The Daily Flower for 21 February

While Robert Herrick urged us to gather our rosebuds, there comes a time in the life of even the most confirmed bachelor when his friends urge him to abandon Rosa chinesis and seek out Citrus sinesis:

Orange flowers, orange blossoms, flos aurantii - call them what you will, the tiny, scented white blossoms of Citrus sinesis have long been associated with nuptials, to the extent that 'to gather orange blossoms' means to look for a wife.

Orange blossom

Apparently the custom of orange blossom pomanders and bridal bouquets was nicked from the Saracens during the crusades. The nomadic Arabs from the Sinai Peninsula allegedly considered the white blossoms to connote chastity, a meaning that was maintained by the Victorian floriographers.

More recently (well, in 1919, to be precise), Florida adopted the orange blossom as its state flower. Whether the Sunshine State's marriage laws make it any easier to tie the knot, you'll have to decide for yourself.

Good for giving to: Tallahassee virgins.

Great orange blossoms in literature: Will seems to suggest the trend came from a little closer to home:

Had orange blossoms been invented then (those touching emblems of female purity imported by us from France, where people's daughters are universally sold in marriage), Miss Maria, I say, would have assumed the spotless wreath, and stepped into the travelling carriage by the side of gouty, old, bald-headed, bottle-nosed Bullock Senior; and devoted her beautiful existence to his happiness with perfect modesty--only the old gentleman was married already; so she bestowed her young affections on the junior partner.
From Vanity Fair by William Makepeace Thackeray

Orange Blossom - The Daily Flower for 26 January

Unlike in zoology, in botany there's not even a hair's breadth of a difference between a Hare's Beard and a Lamb's Ear. Nope, not even a small, soft, flannel-like downy hair, much like the ones that give mullein its velutinous sheen.

That's because Hare's Beard is Lamb's Ear. It's also Shepherd's Club, Flannel Leaf, Jacob's Staff and a plethora of other curious names that refer to the hirsute herb Verbascum thapsus.

Mullein (Verbascum thapsus)

The hairy biennial isn't just fuzzy of leaf, but rather furry of flower covering, too. But once in bloom, mulleins attract far more attention to their densely-packed flower spikes of little bright-yellow blossoms than to their rosettes of dusky-green leaves. Although, if you do insist on ignoring either the flowers or the leaves, mullein won't mind - it connotes 'good nature' in floriography, after all.

Good for giving to:Asthma sufferers and unproductive coughers.

Great mulleins in literature: A complaisant declaration?:

I am no more lonely than a single mullein or dandelion in a pasture, or a bean leaf, or sorrel, or a horse-fly, or a bumblebee.
From Walden & on the Duty of Civil Disobedience by Henry David Thoreau

Mullein - The Daily Flower for 22 January

If you're going to fall in love, it would be wise to do it with someone who felt the same way about you. Is that the message that we're to construe from sage, connoter of wisdom and mutual love in floriography?

Sage by tanakawho

It's not too tricky to see how the Victorians struck upon wisdom as the signified meaning of Salvia officinalis: this healing plant has long been revered as mooty for the mind (and a clever cure for other ailments such as digestive disorders).

But what of this 'mutual love' lark? This is clutching at straws (or, rather, at aromatic green needle-like leaves), but perhaps it was a dodgy floriographic pun playing on the two-lipped corollas of the little lilacy-blue flowers. You're bound to come up with a better explanation:

Good for giving to: Sagittarians.

Great sages in literature: Put to good medicinal use in tea form:

'Take her right up, Alec; I've got the hot water ready, and after a nice bath, she shall have a cup of my sage tea, and be rolled up in blankets to sleep off her cold,' answered the old lady, cheerily, as she bustled away to give orders.
From Eight Cousins by Louisa May Alcott

Sage - The Daily Flower for 19 January

In the botanical playground, the common rue flower has good reason to be sorry - for itself, that is. This is a result of its rather regrettable name: Ruta graveolens. Non-Latin-speakers might not think much of this, but anyone with a pollex verdis and a penchant for etymology will know that this moniker is just a grandiloquent way of saying stinky.

Ruta graveolens (source: www.biolib.de)

Someone must've felt a bit sorry for little miss Rue (actually, that could equally be little master rue - the flowers are hermaphrodite), since, in less poncy circles, the evergreen shrub is dubbed the more genteel 'Herb of Grace'.

Perhaps this is how the flower came to connote changeable disposition in floriography. Or perhaps it was the fact that the bitter-tasting plant makes a great seasoning unless you overindulge in it, at which point it turns nasty toxic. Most undependable indeed.

Good for giving to: Fickle stinkers.

Great rues in literature: Virgil remarks on one of rue's medicinal properties:

He then the garden entered, first when there
With fingers having lightly dug the earth
Away, he garlic roots with fibres thick,
And four of them doth pull; he after that
Desires the parsley's graceful foliage,
And stiffness-causing rue, and, trembling on
Their slender thread, the coriander seeds,
From 'The Salad'

Find out more about The Daily Flower series and floriography.

Rue - The Daily Flower for 18 January

If Sarah Woodruff had been a flower instead of a disgraced woman, she would have been rosemary. There's something a bit French Lieutenant's Womanish about this shrubby herb with its spiky aromatic leaves and small flowers the colour of watery eyes looking longingly out to sea and holding a quiet dialogue with Mnemosyne.

Or maybe that's just a convenient mental image evoked by the knowledge that the botanical name Rosmarinus officinalis is derived from the Latin words ros, meaning dew, and marinus, meaning sea. Not to mention that this mint-family member was used to connote remembrance in floriography.

Rosmarinus officinalis by jam343

Good for giving to: Hirsute amnesiacs with dandruff (rosemary's purported to make an excellent hair tonic and banish seborrheic scurf).

Great rosemaries in literature: Ophelia's rather unforgettable line:

There's rosemary, that's for remembrance. Pray you, love, remember.
From Hamlet, Prince of Denmark by William Shakespeare

Rosemary - The Daily Flower for 17 January

Marigold: the name instantly conjures a rich yellow hue. Oh, how obvious we English speakers are, with our names that point to the reference rather than the sense. Fortunately, we can always rely on the French for a bit more subtlety and romance.

In the language of love (viva La France), Calendula officinalis is better known as souci des jardins: care of the gardens. In the language of flowers, the daisy family's golden child is rumoured to connote a number of concerns: pain, cruely, grief and sorrow. Quite uncanny.

Calendula officinalis by Dorocia

As delightful as it is to entertain these etymological etiologies, the floriographic connotations of the marigold are more likely derived from the plant's medicinal properties. You can make calendula tea to ease the pain of ulcers, or a topical salve from their crowns of cheese-coloured petals to soothe burns.

Good for giving to: Grunge-rock fans.

Great marigolds in literature: Their saffron tones colour more than just foodstuffs and fabrics:

To the west a dark church spire rose up against a marigold sky.
From Anne Of Green Gables by Lucy Maud Montgomery

Marigold - The Daily Flower for 15 January

Lemon
See through in the sunlight
She wore lemon
But never in the daylight
She's gonna make you cry
She's gonna make you whisper and moan
And when you're dry
She draws her water from the stone
:
She wore lemon
To colour in the cold grey night
She had heaven
And she held on so tight
From 'Lemon' by U2 (Zooropa)

Who'd've thought that floriography was so rock'n'roll? In Victorian times, the waxy, five-petalled white blossoms of the lemon tree were seen as tokens of fidelity, prudence and discretion; today, they seem to connote much the same in U2's ballad to Citrus limon.

She had heaven, and she held on so tight (fidelity) : when you're dry, she draws her water from the stone (prudence) : she wore lemon, but never in the daylight (discretion).

Lemon blossom by jessicafm

Just in case all that gushy stuff bores you, you here are two dependable, forethoughtful and tactful lemon blossom facts: you can eat them, and they appear on lemon trees at the same time as lemons do. Fascinating.

Good for giving to: Faithfully discreet economists.

Great lemon blossoms in literature:

And the air came in with lemon blossom fingers
To touch those sleeping faces:
A thousand years of air, months, weeks of air...
These came with gentle footstep hurricanes
Cleansing the lonely precinct of the stone.
From 'Macchu Picchu' by Pablo Neruda

Lemon Blossom - The Daily Flower for 12 January

That little girl who ate all the porridge was quite a complex character, but she's nothing compared to her botanical namesake. Not only is there confusion as to the spelling of its everyday epithet - is it Goldylocks, or Goldilocks? Is it hyphenated - but also as to which of her two botanical names one should use - aster linosyris or Chrysocoma linosyris.

Aster linosyris from Prof. Dr. Otto Wilhelm Thomé's Flora von Deutschland, '-sterreich und der Schweiz (1885)

Ultimately, it seems (as with the fictional blonde) that it boils down to a matter of taste. Do you want to talk about the flower as 'a flaxen star' or 'flaxen with yellow tufts or hairs'? But don't think about it for too long and hard, or you'll find yourself living out Goldylocks's floriographic connotation: languishing.

Good for giving to: Little girls with a penchant for breaking and entering.

Singapore Slings, Old Fashioneds, Bloody Marys - if those sound like an essential ingredient to a pleasant Sunday afternoon, you'll be the first to agree that gentians are imbued with intrinsic worth, loveliness and integrity. Although the floriographers who accorded these meanings to the trumpet-shaped flowers are sure to have enjoyed the effects of pinking their gins with bitters, there is another good reason for them to have attributed such worth to today's flower.

Spring gentian by Alexandre Duret-Lutz

Gentians are quite remarkable for being one of the few flower varieties that really come close to being blue, although some of the almost-200 species come in red, creams and yellows. But it's the root of the gentian that is really remarkable for its numerous medicinal benefits - from an antiseptic to a gastrointestinal elixir.

A little etymological  research reveals that the Gentiana genus has a sweet folk mythology beghind its name: apparently Gentius, a King of Illyria (200BC), used the plant's roots to cure his troops of malaria. Intrinsic worth indeed!

Good for giving to: Cocktail connoisseurs and lovers of blue who are filled with loveliness.

Great gentians in literature: Medicinal properties or mere quacksalvery?

'To what amazing infusions of gentian, peppermint, gilliflower, sage, parsley, thyme, rue, rosemary, and dandelion, did his courageous stomach submit itself!'
From The Mystery of Edwin Drood by Charles Dickens

We may never know whether it was the chicken or the egg that came first, but we're in the pink when it comes to the colour fuchsia and the flower. For the genus of over 100 species of (usually) bright cherry-coloured blossoms was named after a botanist named Leonhard Fuchs.

Fuchsia by isado

What we will probably never know about the fuchsia is why it means so many things to so many different people. In the language of flowers, fuchsias connotes variously taste, frugality, confiding love, humble love, and 'the ambition of my love thus plagues itself'. We can probably glean a fair bit about the human condition though, from the fact that this flower is associated with third wedding anniversaries.

Good for giving to: Not-so-newly weds with lots of different types of love.

Great fuchsias in literature: Is she lauding or loathing them, one wonders?:

''Any place,' the girl exclaimed as she entered, 'more unlike a solicitor's office, I never saw! flowers outside and flowers on your desk, Mr. Pengarth! Don't you have to apologize to your clients for your surroundings? There's absolutely nothing, except the brass plate outside, to show that this isn't an old-fashioned farmhouse, stuck down in the middle of a village. Fuchsias in the window sill, too!''
From The Malefactor by E. Phillips Oppenheim

Black Magic, Bull's Eye, Baccara, Grand Prix and Ecstasy all fit the bill when it comes to deep red roses, but they're not the real McCoy. The true burgundy rose is, well, the eponymous Burgundy rose.

To avoid confusion when seeking this dark-blooded beauty, you could ask for Le Pompon de Bourgogne, Centifolia parvifolia or Rosa burgundica. By any other name, this fragrant rose really will smell as sweet, but, if you're in the hunt for the Burgundy rose in particular, we suggest sticking to its known synonyms.

Curiously, the Burgundy rose isn't always the colour of red table wine from eastern France, although it's steeped in nearly as much history. The blossoms of this miniature variety, whose tightly packed double-petalled pompons have given pleasure since 1664, tend to be more inspired by beverages from the Bordeaux region, ranging from claret to plum.

So how did a rose as complex, sophisticated and knowingly dazzling as France's finest export come to connote simplicity and unconscious beauty in floriography? Perhaps excess indulgence in the Burgundy rose has the same effect as immoderate consumption of Burgundy wine: you're first rendered guileless, briefly believe yourself immeasurably attractive, and then keel over.

Good for giving to: Sommeliers, simpletons and sleeping beauties.

Do you have a photograph of Le Pompon de Bourgogne? We'd be honoured to publish it on this blog.

Don't confuse autumn-flowering crocus with the autumn crocus. That latter Naked Lady, a.k.a. Colchicum autumnale, most certainly doesn't connote 'I am his'. Crocus sativus, however, does.

Crocus angustifolius by Zeynel Cebeci

While Crocus sativus and some other varieties of the Eurasian herb do look rather like Naked Ladies in colour, others, such as Crocus angustifolius, are quite distinct with their showy golden petals that have earned them sobriquets such as cloth-of-gold.

Crocuses and colours are quite confusing. Crocatus is Latin for saffron yellow, so, was the botanical name inspired by the cup-shaped petals of angustifolius, or by the golden stigmas of the purple-blossomed sativus, from which the sought-after spice is obtained?

And just to add to the confusion, the word crocus also refers to a colour that's described as 'a grayish to light reddish purple'. Maybe 'I am his' was the Victorians' way of giving some sense of decisiveness to this complicated flower.

Good for giving to: Yellow-bellied coquettes.

Great crocuses in literature: Homer provides an alternative theory for why the cowslip'd (that's still to do with the bull):

'So he came down and changed himself into a bull and breathed from his mouth a crocus.'
From Collection Of Hesiod, Homer and Homerica

It's little surprise that Barberry didn't make it onto the flower fairy shortlist. I suspect the flower fairy fellowship didn't even bother to investigate the plant before ruling it out; simply read the name 'Berberis vulgaris' and leaped to the conclusion that this was a crotchety old maid who wouldn't make the grade.

By all accounts, the floriographers were of much the same opinion, assigning the European shrub the rather unfriendly connotation of 'ill temper'. They may have had a point, however - after all, the barberry certainly does. Three points, to be precise... in the form of a tripartite thorn-like spine hidden below the leaves.

Although these spikes make the barberry a rather good washing line (see the literary quotation below), they're rather irksome if you're trying to get at the plant's sour berries, which are delicious when made into barberry jam. Brave hosts could even go the whole hog and serve the jam with a cheeseboard after a meal of saffron chicken and barberry rice.

Barberry flower panicles by bc anna

Fancy some lemony loveliness without the prickles? Take a peek at Serenata's yellow flowers.

Good for giving to: Anyone who's been needling you.

Great barberries in literature:

"If she makes as much work after she comes as she has before, we might as well give up hope of ever gettin' any rest," sighed Miranda as she hung the dish towels on the barberry bushes at the side door.

From Rebecca Of Sunnybrook Farm by Kate Douglas Wiggin

Barberry - The Daily Flower for 10 April

She's as cool as a cucumber. Oh, really? Is she not warm to the touch, just like the oblong green fruits of Cucumis sativus? Is she quite imperturbable, rather unlike this gourd-family member, which often gets itself in pickle? Or is she 'marked by deliberate effrontery or lack of due respect or discretion', somewhat prone to 'criticism' - the floriographic connotation of the bright yellow blooms of today's flower?

Well, if you'd like to warm her up with a bit of a flush, unsettle her composure or get her to swallow her words, give her a cucumber to chew on: the seeds are known to give people gas. Just make sure it's not the English 'Burpless' variety, which has been specifically cultivated sans seeds to combat belching.

Cucumber flower by audreyjm529

Good for giving to: Nit-pickers and mudslingers.

Great cucumbers in literature: Erudite or eructate?:

The buyer in the 'gentleman's hosiery' was a well-known reciter, and he was called upon loudly to perform by all the assistants in his department. Needing no pressing, he gave a long poem of tragic character, in which he rolled his eyes, put his hand on his chest, and acted as though he were in great agony. The point, that he had eaten cucumber for supper, was divulged in the last line and was greeted with laughter, a little forced because everyone knew the poem well, but loud and long.

From Of Human Bondage by W. Somerset Maugham

Cucumber - The Daily Flower for 12 March

Feed me! Feed me! Feed me!
Feed me, Seymour
Feed me all night long
That's right, boy
You can do it
Feed me, Seymour
Feed me all night long
'Cause if you feed me, Seymour
I can grow up big and strong.

This Little Shop of Horrors song is hardly a piece of gentle classical music in several parts, but it's definitely a lyric sung for someone, so it might just qualify as a serenade after all. And seeing as 'serenade' is what's connoted by the Audrey II-like sundew, it seems a most apt beginning to today's post.

Yep, Drosera rotundifolia likes a drop of blood to keep her going. Not human blood, mind you, just the blood of bugs. It's their own fault, though, for being eaten; they should know better than to be lured by this dewy, round-leafed seductress flaunting five bright-crimson petals atop each slender, glabrous stem, and offering the promise of sugary delights.

Maybe that's how this dew plant also came to be known as lustwort.

Drosera rotundifolia chromolithograph print from the 1894 edition of "Wild Flowers of America" prepared by Botanical Fine Art Weekly (Published by G.H. Buek & Co., NY.)

Good for giving to: Carnivorous crooners.

Great sundews in literature: Swinburne remarks on the flower's more tender properties:

A little marsh-plant, yellow green,
And pricked at lip with tender red.
Tread close, and either way you tread
Some faint black water jets between
Lest you should bruise the curious head.
From 'The Sundew' by Algernon Charles Swinburne

Sundew - The Daily Flower for 12 February

Heartache? Is this another example of the Victorians' penchant for euphemisms? Sores, scrapes, haemorrhoids and headaches, perhaps, but not heartache. The steroids and tannins in yarrows make the plant an excellent healing herb, but you really do have to draw the line somewhere.

Or perhaps it's not so much the curative properties as the mythological qualities that inspired this floriographic connotation of the Achillea millefolium flower. Purported to bloom from the grave of Confucius, the yarrow plant with its corymbs of tiny white flowers is strongly associated with divinity: the dried stalks are thrown to cast the I Ching. Although whether that's how one cures the heartache is rather open to question.

Yarrow (Achillea millefolium) by bcanna

Good for giving to: Broken-hearted mystics.

Great yarrows in literature: Hinting at mystical beauty:

The yarrow's beauty: fools may laugh,
And yet the fields without it
Were shorne of half their comfort, half
Their magic--who can doubt it?.
From 'Yarrow' by Archibald Lampman (1861-1899)

Yarrow - The Daily Flower for 16 January

A common sweeper who, although isolated, embodies beauty and commands admiration - sounds a bit like our old friend Cinderella. Although flower fans with a good grasp of Latin and a familiarity with the Victorian language of flowers will know this description is equally fitting for Calluna vulgaris, more commonly known as heather or ling.

Heather by bc anna

The complicit skivvy of the fictional ugly step-sisters was rumoured to have spent hours with her arms in the dishwater, and, as such, was probably no stranger to lime - but the Ericaceae-family flower puts its foot down in this respect: it's a calcifuge. And as for glass slippers, well, the closest it gets is dainty clusters of purple bell-shaped blossoms. Fortunately, they still look fabulous after midnight.

Good for giving to: Laudable loners with luscious looks.

Great heathers in literature: A romantic edge to the flower that was seemingly unexplored in floriography:

'Speaking of romance,' said Priscilla, 'we've been looking for heather -- but, of course, we couldn't find any.'
From Anne of The Island by Lucy Maud Montgomery

Heather - The Daily Flower for 11 January

There's a yellowing mist of sadness that cloaks the hunchbacked landscape of small towns. Especially those ones that slightly wayward adolescent girls at exclusive schools tend to inhabit. Every slam of a luxury sedan door seems to seal their fate as chattels to a postmodern malaise. It's only when they venture into the rancid underbelly on the outskirts of the suburban facades that they find out what sorrow really is. Like the poem she got from her new black-nailed friend who told her how clothes hung on him like dead leaves after the first rains of winter. That's when she knew her love had ended. When she realised the beauty that sadness could bring.

Dead leaves by yashima

Good for giving to: Skinny despondents and wretched lovelessers.

Great dead leaves in literature: The human condition 150 years earlier:

'Vacantly I walked beside her.
On the earth mine eyes were cast;
Swift and keen there came unto me
Bitter memories of the past--
On me, like the rain in Autumn
On the dead leaves, cold and fast.'
From 'The Village Street' by Edgar Allan Poe

Rather keep the love going? Try the romantic flowers category page on our Serenata Flowers website.

Dead Leaves - The Daily Flower for 10 January

'Lavender's blue, dilly dilly, lavender's green,
When I am king, dilly, dilly, you shall be queen.
Who told you so, dilly, dilly, who told you so?
'Twas my own heart, dilly, dilly, that told me so.'

If the floriographic connotation of Lavandula angustifolia (nee Lavandula officinalis) is anything to go by, the lovers in this English folk song must've never quite made it to the throne together. Since the Victorian era, the spikes of headily scented little purple flowers were given as a reminder not to trust our dilly dilly hearts.

Spanish lavender by debaird

Good for giving to: Sufferers of sleepless nights and a lack of appetite

Great lavenders in literature: Should we distrust this advice?:

'As a little sprig of lavender will perfume a queen's wardrobe, so will a short year of love keep sweet a long life.'
From The Quest of the Golden Girl by Richard le Gallienne

Fancy sending some lavender-coloured flowers? Try the blue flowers category page on our Serenata Flowers website.

Lavender - The Daily Flower for 9 January

Remember, remember, the fifth of: nope, that would be January, not November, if you're a hydrangea fan. For that is the floriographic connotation of these gorgeous 'water barrels'.

Blue hydrangea by tanakawho

Whether of the wild, mop-head or lace-cape variety, hydrangreas need plenty of water to keep their clusters of little white, pink, purply and even green flower starlets smiling (the colour is often determined by the pH balance of the soil).

Pink hydrangea by zenera

That goes for cut flowers as much as garden flowers - with good looking after, hydrangea hand-ties can last up to two weeks. But don't worry if you haven't got green fingers; they make excellent dried flowers as well.

Apple Blossom hydrangea hand-tie from Serenata Flowers

Good for giving to: People with knots in their handkerchiefs.

Great hydrangeas in literature: Much to the horror of flower lovers the world over:

'He did not want to hear about hydrangeas, why they change their colour at the seaside.'
From A Room With A View by E. M. Forster

Find out more about The Daily Flower series and floriography.

Hydrangea - The Daily Flower for 5 January

There's a little town in the middle of Texas. Nope, not Paris, Texas: but the name will prickle your memory just as much. I'm talkin' 'bout Cactus, Texas.

According to the 2000 census, 68.0% of the town's population were married couples living together. So maybe it's not just the members of the Cactaceae family that are associated with 'ardent love', the cactus plant's floriographic connotation.

For the plants, that's a seemingly apt association: most succulents are spiny rather than spineless, after all. But that's about where the similarities end, as this amazing collection of cactus flower photographs proves.

Cactus bloom by macrophile

Good for giving to: Men, apparently.

Great cactuses in literature: More than just big, big love:

'The latter forms part of the Unyamwezy, a magnificent country, where the trees attain enormous dimensions; among them the cactus, which grows to gigantic size.'
From Five Weeks in a Balloon by  Jules Verne

Find out more about The Daily Flower series and floriography.

Cactus - The Daily Flower for 3 January

Such a pity that Dial 'M' for murder sounds so much more catchy than dial '360' for toxic termination, although the latter does have a certain ring to it. And what a great Agatha Christie story it could have made: that old London dialling code for Winchmore Hill was commonly referred to as LABurnum, the sweet-pea family tree with a deadly edge.

Even the floriographic connotations of Laburnum anagyroides can add to the plot of our Big Smoke thriller: the story begins with a 'pensive beauty' who's too soon 'forsaken' by her lover; 'darkness' must follow.

Alas, glamour would be entirely absent from the climax. Death by laburnum is not a pretty sight - convulsions, vomiting, frothing mouth. And who would have thought it, looking at the ebony-trunked tree's pendulous racemes of yellow blossoms? Well, they say it's always the quiet ones you should watch out for:

Laburnum tree by Gaetan Lee

Good for giving to: North-London nemeses.

Great laburnums in literature: Dostoyevsky, the good squire, has kindly written the treatment for the opening credits of the film version:

'Beside the margin a derelict barrel would be turning over and over in the water; a switch of laburnum, with yellowing leaves, would go meandering through the reeds; and a belated gull would flutter up, dive again into the cold depths, rise once more, and disappear into the mist.'
From Poor Folk by Fyodor Dostoyevsky

Laburnum - The Daily Flower for 8 January

Quick! Make sure you've got either a hot date or a very good excuse this Thursday - because 6 July is National Kissing Day.

Curiously, this celebration of smooching actually originated in the UK - despite (or indeed, perhaps, because of) the fact that residents on the Sceptred Isle have one of the worst reputations for puckering prowess. In a survey undertaken by getlippy.com, 95 per cent of the nation's young women who were interviewed believed they weren't getting enough when it came to kissing.

Kiss by Stian Martinsen.

Sending flowers is one obvious prelude to a kiss, but if a beatific bunch doesn't get your loved one lippy, you could try mouthing off a couple of these kissorific facts:

• Scientists reckon that kissing helps to reduce skin complaints
• Doctors in Japan suggest that a 30-minute kissing session may reduce hay fever symptoms
• Serious smooching quickens the pulse to 100 b.p.m and burns up to 600 calories per hour (or 26 calories per minute, if you're the snogging equivalent of a sprinter)
• The world's longest kiss was just 33 seconds short of 32 minutes
• Most people spend 14 days of their lives kissing (spread out over the years, naturally)
• The Romans referred to lip-rubbing as osculation
• The science of kissing is called philematology

National Kissing Day provides a tongue-in-cheek excuse for sending flowers

Ever wondered what kind of flower you are? Take the quiz at the delightful This Garden Is Illegal blog to find out...

'You stand up for what you believe in, even if it gets in the way of what other people think. You are proud of yourself and your accomplishments and you enjoy letting people know that.'

Bah! So much for modesty.

What flower are you?

There's a bit of a chicken and egg problem with the meaning of today's flowers: are the floral coronets a popular choice for brides because they connote 'reward for chastity', or did they acquire that meaning because they're the headdress of choice for ladies in white?

Actually, today's floral emblem also has strong associations with a lady in blue: the Virgin Mary. Rosary prayer beads, with which the Lady Madonna is linked, derive their name from the Latin word for a crown of roses.

Don't be fooled into thinking it's the exclusive preserve of the fairer sex, though. Roman soldiers were often festooned with these floral garlands before they went into battle. Which might explain why the rose-rich circlets are also said to symbolise superior merit.

Good for giving to: brides, maidens, ladies of the cloth, competitors and champions. Oh yes, and barflies - there's a cocktail called a crown of roses.

Crown of Roses - The Daily Flower for 30 June

Well, it must be a pretty fine specimen seeing as it was the not-so-secret passion of the first president of the National Rose Society. Although, considering the society was founded in 1876, and the Gloire de Dijon was bred in 1853, perhaps the Rev. Dean Hole was just a bit of a fashionista (trends moved a little more slowly in those days, remember).

The Gloire de Dijon certainly has a lot going for it, though: a deliciously brazen perfume reminiscent of fruity tea, masses of double petals, and subtle hues ranging from orangey pink to bisque. It also means gladness, so there's little risk of creating any amorous impressions if that's not your intention.

Good for giving to: Men of the cloth, avuncular acquaintances and fanciers of slightly risque poetry. Gloire de Dijon is very much not a soppy pinky, but its densely packed petals give it a rather fussy appearance, so keep it away from minimalists.

Go and ogle at this rose's magnificence, or find out more about The Daily Flower series and floriography.

Gloire de Dijon - The Daily Flower for 29 June

Roses are a popular flower to have in your garden or give as a gift, but some people are not aware of the historical meaning of a rose. The romantic nature of the early Romans attracted them to roses. The Romans would pamper their guests with the petals of roses and celebrated with rose wine. Early Christians showed dedication to the rose in the stained glass windows built into churches. The rosary is used in modern churches, but the term was originally defined to mean a rose garden. Roses have been a symbol in many events around the world since before Christ was born to 15th century England’s War of Roses.??

Early roses and the roses of today are very different. Napoleon’s first wife Josephine maintained a garden in France. Her garden was discovered and had 250 species of roses. Many of the rose species in Josephine’s garden are still in existence today. The roses found in Josephine’s garden were the inspiration in the breeding of the modern rose. Breeding of the rose has been a practice for centuries.
Across the sea in North America, roses were becoming popular. America had almost 35 native rose species during the time of the American Indians. Native Americans planted roses to add color to their small villages. ??Native American roses such as the Rosa Setigera, Rosa Californica, and the Rosa Palustris are easy to maintain roses. The roses thrive with minimaal care with smaller amounts of fertilizer and water. The settlers helped introduce rose species from different parts of the world. William Penn believed in the medicinal purposes of rose plants and wrote a book for other pioneers to teach them the value of a rose.?

The modern roses are as popular today as they were centuries ago and were adopted by the United States as the national flower. The flower business is big and sells millions of flowers every year. Rose growers sell their plants all over the world and continue to breed new species. Roses have become so popular because they can be used in different ways. You can give roses to your mother on Mother’s Day or her birthday, or you can give roses to your sweetheart just because, and you can give roses as an apology anytime of the year. Roses have so many meanings to them that it is hard to go wrong when giving them as a gift or for a special event.

Queen of Annuals, the sweet pea's 'delicate pleasures' can be resisted by neither poets nor proletarians, age nor youth, rich nor poor.

Originally from Sicily, the sweet pea has long been prized for its colour and fragrance. The divine scent made the flower a popular inclusion in tussie-mussies - small handheld nosegays that were carried to much the same effect as Gucci bags before the 1900s. Although, even today, brides harking back to a bygone era (and those who realise a posy is more appropriate than a purse when perambulating down the aisle) still sometimes carry a handful of sweet peas on their wedding day.

There's a rumour that sweet peas not only help to alleviate hangovers, but also enhance the libido. More likely, the exhilarating aroma has gone straight to somebody's head.

Good for giving to: Charming hosts, blushing brides, Romantic poets and anyone recovering from (or about to enjoy) a good night out.

A macro shot of a wild vine sweet pea by bc anna.

If imagining the plus sides of an afterlife has your thoughts tumbling out of control at a rapid pace, fear not: snowballing is commonly associated with 'thoughts of heaven'. Except, as this association occurs in the field of floriography, the snowballs in question are not verbs, but sand verbena.

Don't be fooled by that synonym, however; although snowball bears spheres of sweet-scented blossoms that look like white versions of verbena's tiny trumpets, its binomials Abronia elliptica and Abronia fragrans suggest a rather different heritage.

Sand verbena by Ron

Although the genus name is derived from the Greek word 'abros' meaning 'delicate', ingesting the ground root of the snowball plant was believed to have quite the opposite effect on the figure. Maybe it should have connoted 'thoughts of food'. But then, culinariness is next to godliness, isn't it? Or something like that.

Good for giving to: Saints and skinnymalinkses.

Snowball - The Daily Flower for 9 May

Tongue-trippingly entered on the botanical register as Chrysanthemum balsamita, var. tanacetoides, Patagonian mint also travels by the names of beaver tongue, balsam herb, mace, costmary and alecost. Not Pentecost, mind you, although it was used as a Bible bookmark in the days of knights and castles.

These days, however, you're more likely to find Patagonian mint listed on the side of a tea box or box of pot-pourri, which is indubitably a more lucrative way of using the aromatic balsamic scent of the little yellow flowers. Whether that behavior constitutes commendable behavior is open to debate; the Patagonian mint's floriographic connotation of virtue, however, is not.

Good for giving to: Saints and sniffers.

Great Patagonian mints in literature: It looks as if this flower must have been too good for the books.

Thistles, whether Scotch or not, are rather tricky to understand. At first glance, they look rather similar: spiky leaved, purple flowered (or pappused, if you're being particular) plants: but on closer inspection, the common thistle Cirsium vulgare has more feather-like bristles than the firm bristles of the Scotch thistle Onopordum acanthium. And since they're of different genuses, different connotations in the language of flowers naturally follows. Rather than 'retaliation', 'austerity' is the floriographic meaning of the common thistle. No laughing, now. Even when you discover that eating the root of the common thistle also causes flatulence.

Common thistle by nalilo

Wanting a spiky bouquet? Thistle do. (Conatins Eryngium, which is actually 'sea holly' and just looks like thistle).

Good for giving to: Ascetics.

Great common thistles in literature:

A thistle grows about here which has needles on it that would pierce through leather, I think; if one touches you, you can find relief in nothing but profanity.

From The Innocents Abroad by Mark Twain

Common Thistle - The Daily Flower for 17 May

You can remember, remember the 5th of November, but how will you 'remember me'? I'll give you a sprig of Philadelphus lewisii, that's how.

It's not that this citrus-scented white blossom is particularly memorable or evocative per se; rather, it's a bit of a pretender. Looking and smelling like an orange blossom, it is unsurprisingly known as the mock orange. Looking and smelling nothing like lilacs, those true species of the Syringa genus, it is surprisingly also known as syrignia.

So, even though I gave you one flower, you'll remember me when you see one of three.

Painting of Philadelphus lewisii by Mary E. Eaton.

But how will you spot a real mock orange? There are four easy ways: each flower has four petals; the petals are up to 4cm in length; and if you take four leaves and rub them in your hands they'll foam up like soap. And the fourth way? Just ask an Idahoian - syrignia is their national flower.

Can't find a mock orange? There are plenty of other memorable flowers fresh for the picking at Serenata Flowers.

Good for giving to: Forgetful types.

Great syringias in literature: Fond memories?:

In my mind tonight
I hear the question and pursuing answer
fused in one sound
that mounts and mounts and then
is split into the old selves,
the tired antagonisms. Do you see?
We were made fools of.
And the scent of mock orange
drifts through the window.

From 'Mock Orange' by Louise Glück

Syringia - The Daily Flower for 16 May

'William, William, it was really nothing' opined the great miserablist of a William who sounds both sweet (poor fellow's been dragged down by his humdrum town) and treacherous (what, exactly, was 'really nothing'?). A paradox? It won't be the first involving a beloved Billy with a bent for betrayal. The flower Sweet William is said to connote treachery in floriography. (And, of course, there's the infamous Billy Liar.)

Perhaps this connotation is an example of theory in practice; who's fooling who, when we learn that this clove-scented flower also connotes gallantry, 'will you smile' and finesse? Well, great characters mean all things to all people, they say, and Sweet William's botanical binomial, Dianthus barbatus, which translates roughly as the bearded divine flower, suggests it's quite a character indeed.

Will you smile? You bet, when you see Artemus chewing Sweet William by Dr. Hemmert

To add to the duplicity, there are almost as many etyological myths as connotations behind Sweet William's common name. The bright pink, red, purple, white or variegated blossoms are rumoured in some circles to be named after an archetypal folkloric fop, and in others after William of York, the Duke of Cumberland and even William the Conqueror. Perhaps there's a connotation for each of these possible namesakes.

Good for giving to: Cats and charlatans.

Great Sweet Williams in literature: A scent of cloves:

Too quick despairer, wherefore wilt thou go?
Soon will the high Midsummer pomps come on,
Soon will the musk carnations break and swell,
Soon shall we have gold-dusted snapdragon,
Sweet-William with his homely cottage-smell,
And stocks in fragrant blow;

From 'Thyrsis' by Thomas Arnold

Sweet William - The Daily Flower for 15 May

If you find yourself wandering lonely as a cloud and stumble across a belt of golden yellow flowers, chances are you've stumbled across something from the narcissus genus - but probably not the daffodil per se. That name is usually reserved for N. pseudonarcissus, distinguishable from other vainglorious species by its paler yellow petals that encircle a darker, yolk-coloured central trumpet.

N. pseudonarcissus by color line

As Mike Skinner would say, these flowers are fit, but don't they just know it; the name narcissus (after the self-absorbed and haughty Narkissos from Greek mythology) says it all. Excessive vanity is often deemed to be sickening, so it's quite apt that the beautiful flowers and their bulbs, which contain poisonous alkaloids, are a potent emetic.

The Welsh don't seem to mind too much, however, and have made the daffodil their national flower. Those Cymraeg-speaking forefathers obviously overlooked the vanity aspect of the flower's lineage and instead focused on the etymology of daffodil - a name derived from a variant of that flower named after the king's spear: asphodel.

This regal link could explain why floriographers have accorded daffodils the meaning of chivalry. The flower's other connotation, unrequited love, is also easily traced back to that emotionally numb young lad from ancient Greece. But as for daffodils being floriographically synonymous with contentment - well, either their primrose scent is intensely satisfying, or true bliss is only achieved after gorging on the death-inducing bulbs.

Good for giving to: Buy these for yourself if you're fond of mirrorgazing.

Great daffodils in literature: It wasn't only Wordsworth who did them proud:

'Miss Waterford, torn between the aestheticism of her early youth, when she used to go to parties in sage green, holding a daffodil, and the flippancy of her maturer years, which tended to high heels and Paris frocks, wore a new hat.'
From The Moon and Sixpence by W. Somerset Maugham

You got five petals for a welcome
There is bloodstain for your pain
:
They tried to tame you
Looks like they will try again

Wild plums never lose it
Wild plums never chose this way
Wild plums never close your eyes
Wild plums always shine

If Duran Duran had signed to Innocent Drinks* (yum yum) instead of Capitol Records, pop music might not have been a very different thing after all. The 80s hit single Wild Boys (misquoted so cruelly above) works just as well when its about wild plums.

Of course Prunus domestica never chose this way; we tried to tame them (looks like we will try again), but we are doomed to failure since they are ciphers for independence in floriography. And there will certainly be bloodstain for your pain if you eat one of these messy deep purple fruits.

(L-R) Simon Le Bon, Nick Rhodes, John Taylor: sorry, wrong picture: Plum tree blossoming by Fir0002

* Actually, Innocent don't seem to do a plum smoothie, but they do have a fruit called a durian durian. OK, OK, its just a durian. But you will never eat just one.

Good for giving to: Liberated lasses and feral lads.

Great wild plums in literature:

They are unholy who are born
To love wild plum at night,
Who once have passed it on a road
Glimmering and white.

From Wild Plum by Orrick Glenday Johns

Had he but world enough, and time, high praise of his coy mistress would be no crime in the eyes of Andrew Marvell's narrator. Indeed there'd be good occasion for elevation. So, in the name of expediency (time being of the essence and all that), the worm-warning bearer of that vegetable love should have given the object of his desire a fir tree. That would have been a far more succinct way of expressing 'time' and 'elevation'. Except, of course, the language of flowers wasn't yet invented in the mid-17th century.

Fir trees, on the other hand, had been around since time immemorial. And stick around for almost that long, too (there's an Abies amabilis in British Columbia that's heading for its eighth century). You can often tell the length of time one of these evergreens has been around by its height - their upright trunks usually produce a branch whorl on a yearly basis.

These regular whorls are one way to spot the difference between firs and Pinaceae family cousins the pines, but, to this end, it's easier to take a look at what's on the branches than at the branches themselves. Unlike pines, firs have upright cones and needles look a bit like they're suctioned onto the twigs, rather than growing out of them.

Abies amabilis shoot (enlarged) by MPF

Good for giving to: Big-upped beauties and celebrated chronologists

Great firs in literature:

"Give me of your balm, O Fir-tree!
Of your balsam and your resin,
So to close the seams together
That the water may not enter,
That the river may not wet me!"
And the Fir-tree, tall and sombre,
Sobbed through all its robes of darkness,
Rattled like a shore with pebbles,
Answered wailing, answered weeping,
"Take my balm, O Hiawatha!"
And he took the tears of balsam,
Took the resin of the Fir-tree,
Smeared therewith each seam and fissure,
Made each crevice safe from water.

From 'Hiawatha's Sailing' by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Fir Tree - The Daily Flower for 27 March

One gets the strong suspicion that, by the time they reached the pitch pine (having not long before attributed meaning to pine in general), the floriographers were clutching at the straw-like needles for suitable meanings.

Pitch pine, you see, is so named because it yields pitch, more commonly known as turpentine and more generally known as a solvent. Now, in the language of flowers, Pinus rigida connotes philosophy - a meaning that seems to bear little connection to the gnarly russet-coloured bark or long needles of the tree apart from the orthographic echo of 'solver' in 'solvent'.

Derrida would surely approve.

Pinus rigida by Robert H. Mohlenbrock @ USDA-NRCS PLANTS Database

Good for giving to: Thinkers and thinners fans.

Great pitch pines in literature: Perhaps as inspirational to someone as the melted wax was to Descartes?

The shadows, gleams, up under the leaves of the old sycamore-trees--
the flames--with the black smoke from the pitch-pine, curling
and rising;

From 'American Feuillage' by Walt Whitman

Pitch Pine - The Daily Flower for 26 March

Virginal ivy, fraternal love and old-fashioned cigarettes conjure up a kind of smoky yellow ambiance of Brideshead Revisited, but there's a stronger link between these images than some romanticised literary mood.

Parthenocissus vitacea (from the Greek parthenos, meaning virgin, and kissos, meaning ivy), commonly known as woodbine (as are, confusingly, some species of honeysuckle and some wartime fags) is a vine-like thicket creeper with palmate leaves, clusters of little greenish flowers and poisonous grape-coloured drupes that connotes fraternal love in floriography.

Wills's 'Woodbine' by Very Good With Computers

Parthenocissus vitacea (Knerr) A.S. Hitchc. - woodbine (USDA-NRCS PLANTS Database)

Good for giving to: Benevolent brotherly types.

Great woodbine in literature: A sororal scene on the stoep:

Sometimes they would work on the side porch where the clematis and woodbine shaded them from the hot sun.

From Rebecca Of Sunnybrook Farm by Kate Douglas Wiggin

Woodbine - The Daily Flower for 23 March

Bahia grass, bent grass, bermuda grass, blue grass, buffalo grass, carpet grass, centipede grass, grama grass, rye grass, zoysia grass, or even the more erudite-sounding St. Augustine Grass and Princess 77 Bermuda. With around 10,000 species in the Poaceae family to choose from, you can be pretty sure the grass is not always greener on this side, let alone the other.

Sure, the lawn crops listed above pretty much run the gamut from Ao to Vert, but there's also a whole palette of palatable tans and browns amongst the graincrop grasses.

Manila Grass (Zoysia matrella)

Useful stuff, that grass (as the floriographers deigned to remind us by ascribing that very connotation to the hollow-stemmed, sheath-bladed plant). But don't forget about its beauty: grass boasts complicated little wind-pollinated flowers. It's even said, in certain circles, that grass's ancestor may have been a small Liliaceous plant.

Good for giving to: Functional friends.

Great grass in literature: Doing its job? Would that it wasn't made for this:

Pile the bodies high at Austerlitz and Waterloo.
Shovel them under and let me work-
                I am the grass; I cover all.

And pile them high at Gettysburg
And pile them high at Ypres and Verdun.
      Shovel them under and let me work.
Two years, ten years, and passengers ask the conductor:
                What place is this?
                Where are we now?

                I am the grass.
                Let me work.

'Grass' (1918) by Carl Sandburg

Grass - The Daily Flower for 13 March

Contrary to the initial suspicions of Harry Potter fans, mugworts are not hybrids of hocus-pocus-free humans and witches' familiars. They are herbaceous perennials Artemisia vulgaris, believed by Victorian floriographers to connote happiness.

Artemisia vulgaris from Koehler's Medicinal-Plants 1887

Moreover, there are plenty of magical myths associated with the mugwort. Firstly, its botanical name suggests a close connection to Artemis, Apollo's virginal twin sister and goddess of the moon. Add to that the fact that the racemes of little yellow or red flower heads and other parts of the plant are favoured by the spell sorority for their positive powers. Something we should all keep in the store cupboard then, if not in the decorative vase. Especially as it's rumoured to have an unholy stench.

Good for giving to: Optimistic occultists.

Great mugworts in literature: Mythical (and stinky) even thousands of years ago:

'Now darkly lies the world in twilight's glow,
Who doth your defects and your virtue know?
Evil and good herein are reconciled;
The crowd alone hath nought but is defiled.
With stinking mugwort girt upon their waist,
They curse the others for their orchids chaste;
Ignorant thus in choice of fragrance rare,
Rich ornaments how could they fitly wear?'
From 'Li Sao (The Lament)' by Ch'ü Yüan (340- 278 B.C.) - translated by Yang Hsien-yi and Gladys Yang

"Beware the Ides of March" - quite a premonition that Caesar-warning seer had. Fitting then, that the walnut, which connotes 'presentiment' in floriography, is the flower of the day for 15 March.

Or, perhaps it came to be todays flower by another means: as well as allegedly quelling herd-following instincts, walnut essence is believed to help those over-sensitive to certain ideas who 'need protection from outside influences.

Juglans regia from Koehlers Medicinal-Plants 1887

Perhaps old Julius ought to have munched on the fruit of one of the 21 species in the Juglans genus (the name is derived from the Latin for Jove's nuts), or even worn a laurel of their greeny-yellow catkins instead of his usual bay leaves.

Good for giving to: People who should be looking over their shoulders.

Great walnuts in literature: Is there another meaning of the walnut that we have missed?:

"My husbands are also out there gathering wood." She drew a handful of walnuts from her bosom, split one neatly, and began to eat. Kim affected blank ignorance.

"Dost thou not know the meaning of the walnut -- priest?" she said coyly, and handed him the half-shells."Well thought of." He slipped the piece of paper between them quickly. "Hast thou a little wax to close them on this letter?"

From Kim by Rudyard Kipling

More walnut pictures: Close-up of a catkin at Otter Farm and Arboreality's impressive Juglans nigra.

Marriage must have been quite a desirable state for the Victorians. Or else those floriographers were in cahoots with some pretty hardcore social engineering enthusiasts. How else does a flower commonly known as bachelor's buttons come to connote 'single wretchedness' in the language of flowers?  So much for the debonair flaneur and the happy stag.

Centaurea cyanus (cornflowers/bachelor's buttons) by Donarreiskoffer

The tale of how this European annual acquired its meaning may be a little dodgy, but the way it got its name is more above than below the belt: the bright blue (or red, or pink, or white) flowers atop the silvery, fuzzy stems were once a popular choice for boutonnières.

Good for giving to: The terminally single.

Great bachelor's buttons in literature: Should one construe that she's a spinster, and 'wretched' at that?

From the trim little hat, with its white band and jaunty bunch of cornflowers, to the well-shaped patent shoes, she was neatly and daintily dressed.
From  A Millionaire of Yesterdayby E. Phillips Oppenheim

Prefer polishing wood to changing water? You'll probably take a shining to this flower-inspired furniture from Iceland.

It comes from the Pinaceae family, but it might as well come from Pinocchio's family - and not just because it's made of wood like Geppetto's unreal boy.

For starters, Pinocchio means pine nut. Secondly, the lad was rather a pitiful character, although he certainly showed endurance and daring; no guesses as to what the pine connotes in the language of flowers. Some might also argue that the elongated 'flowers' of the pinus look rather like the fictional marionette's nose - but perhaps that's stretching things a bit far:

Pinus sylvestris flowers by ruba_ch

Good for giving to: Forlorn fabricators.

Great pines in literature: A miserable scene, unless, of course, you're daring:

Rising in steep roofs and spires of seagreen slate in the manner of the old French-Scotch chateaux, it reminded an Englishman of the sinister steeple-hats of witches in fairy tales; and the pine woods that rocked round the green turrets looked, by comparison, as black as numberless flocks of ravens.

From The Innocence Of Father Brown by G.K. Chesterton

Ever wondered what kind of houseplant your special friend is? Probably not. But one day you might discover yourself struggling to choose them the perfect potted present, so its worth finding out.

Make sure you know for sure by answering these 4 simple questions:

Their most indispensible possession is:
A)    A calculator, pocket protector or Yoda gonk
B)    The latest gossip
C)    Leg warmers, a truckers cap or a sweatband
D)    A parasol or handkerchief

They listen to music on a:
A)    CD player
B)    MP3 player
C)    Ghettoblaster
D)    Record player

They always crave:
A)    Work
B)    Attention
C)    Adventure
D)    Intellectual stimulation

Their typical Saturday night involves:
A)    Star Wars reruns or disk defragmentation
B)    Hours in front of the mirror
C)    Freaky dancing until dawn
D)    Front row seats at the opera

Mostly As: Your friend is a guzmania
Mostly Bs: Your friend is an orchid
Mostly Cs: Your friend is an aechmea
Mostly Ds: Your friend is a peace lily

Id wager a large pinch of salt (very valuable, at one time, you know) that those Victorian floriographers walked around grinning in perpetuity. Nothing but an extremely wry sense of humour can explain how valerian - a plant used medicinally as a sedative and that shares its name with a Roman emperor who was forever in the financial doldrums and beset by military mishaps - came to connote good disposition.

True, sleep is rather a good disposition to be in, and the insomnia-alleviating Valeriana officinalis is a friend in deed to those seeking temporary oblivion. And, come to think of it, disposition can also mean getting rid of something; as well as boasting pretty little corymbs of pinkish, sweet-scented flowers, valerian is rich in valeric acid, which purportedly banishes acne.

Valerian

Good for giving to: Cats.

Great valerian in literature:

Sleep is a friend I have fallen out with,
I wish she would come back to me.

I bring her Valerian, milk and honey,
I plead with her, I promise her dreams.

From Insomnia by Julia Darling

Hidden merit? Hmmm, I'm not entirely convinced; yet floriographers insist that is what Coriandrum sativum connotes.

Corriandrum sativum from Koehler's Medicinal-Plants 1887

Admittedly, it's a biased disagreement, as coriander is the last herb I'd consider adding to a dish (there are other ways of giving Mexican salsa its zing), and think the flavour pales beside that of its parsley cousin. Even splitting hairs doesn't help: no votes for cilantro, either, which refers to the plant's leaves (as opposed to its seeds).

No, there's little merit hidden in the flavour as far as I can tell. But there's plenty of overt beauty in the delicate pinkish-white flowers that grow in numerous clusters off the rather untasty stems.

Perhaps the Victorians weren't inspired by the taste of coriander either, and were referring to its more oblique healing properties. Apparently the flower essence does a mighty fine job in bringing the sweetness back into life. But if the essence tastes anything like the rest of the plant, I can't see how life would possibly seem bitter in comparison.

Good for giving to: Nice people who've become a bit bitter and twisted.

Great corianders in literature: Not only a useful ingredient in dishes, but in poems as well:

'Hurry folks, to the coriander,
hurry hurry folks,
I'm the supermarket bard,
I'll sing the rustle of cornflakes,
the curve of mutinous cucumbers,
until the cash register hands me
the final printed version
of my poem.'
From 'In the Supermarket' by Agi Mishol (1995). Translated by Tsipi Keller.

When is a lotus not a lotus? When it's a bean. And when is a bean not a bean? When it's a flower, of course. And when will this all start making sense? Well, just as soon as you take a look at Fabaceae family memmber Lotus corniculatus, commonly known as birdsfoot trefoil.

Birdsfoot trefoil by Vertigogenertigogen

There's a great temptation to contemplate when a birdsfoot isnn't a birds' foot, or even when a birdsfoot doesn't look like a bird's foot, but let's just cut to the chase. The common name of this plant doesn't make any reference to either the leaves or the bright yellow blossoms of the perennial, but to the talon-like seed pods that the flowers develop into in later life.

So the poor plant gets a bit twisted, if not bitter, in its old age. But was that really reason enough for the Victorian floriographers to assign the flower the meaning 'revenge'?

Good for giving to: People who like to dig their claws in.

Yesterday, we had white 'mutton dressed as lamb' lilac; today we have purple-prosed, lilac-coloured lilac, floriographic signifier of those first emotions of love.

As can be expected of a plant whose common name was bestowed upon that pale purple hue, many species of Syringa have flowers that span the mauve end of the colour spectrum.

The Color Purple by Matt McGee

But what's the story behind the Syringa genus? Despite their Grecian botanical name (syrinx means hollow pipe, and describes the shoots of some lilac species) and their Francophile connotations (the famous French lilac is a double-flowered cultivar), lilacs originated in Persia. And this explains the common name of these aromatic early bloomers: the Persian word 'lilak' means blue.

Lilacs are not only exotic in origin - as cut flowers, they have rather different tastes to most as well. They like their water slightly cooler than room temperature, and respond best to heat exhaustion if they get a steaming foot bath before chilling out in a vase: cut the stems at the usual 45 degrees, and douse the ends in a few inches of boiling water. Ouch! But the lilacs like it.

Good for giving to: Laurence Llewelyn-Bowen fans (where would they be without that versatile hue?), French maids and your latest squeeze.

Great lilacs in literature: This passage from Alexander's Bridge by Willa Cather epitomises their Frenchness, freshness and fragrance:

'How jolly it was being young, Hilda! Do you remember that first walk we took together in Paris? We walked down to the Place Saint-Michel to buy some lilacs. Do you remember how sweet they smelled?'

Ever wondered what to do with that monolithic collection of pencil stubs that are too short to write with? You could always make them into flowers and other beautiful things.

Jennifer Maestre's pencil sculpture Asteridae

Even now this landscape is assembling.
The hills darken. The oxen
Sleep in their blue yoke,
The fields having been
Picked clean, the sheaves
Bound evenly and piled at the roadside
Among cinquefoil, as the toothed moon rises:

This is the barrenness
Of harvest or pestilence
And the wife leaning out the window
With her hand extended, as in payment,
And the seeds
Distinct, gold, calling
Come here
Come here, little one

And the soul creeps out of the tree.

'All Hallows' by Louise Gluck

Cinquefoil by Doctor Swan

Potentilla: a genus of fever-curing herbs bearing moon-yellow flowers with toothed leaves; known in some circles as tormentil, in others as barren strawberry, and connoting sometimes 'the dead' and others 'maternal affection'. Cinquefoil is thus a most apt choice of flower for this evocative poem by Louise Gluck.

Good for giving to: Beloved daughters and zombies.

Clust Llygoden Culddail may think it's the only mouse-ear chickweed in the village, but it's only the commonest one. And despite its bordering-on-unpronounceable name in Welsh (but that's Welsh for you) and tongue-tripping binomial (but that's Latin for you), it's a plant that's said to connote 'simplicity' in floriography. That's not to say it's the village idiot, though.

Au contraire, the Eurasian native Cerastium fontanum was highly regarded by the Cherokee Indians, who made an infusion of its stems and roots to cure any worm-infested offspring.

Cerastium fontanume (common mouse-ear chickweed)

The unfussy little white flowers that appear from April to September are probably what inspired mouse-eared chickweed's meaning in the language of flowers. They're rather simple to identify, too, and do things in nice round numbers: 10 stamens, five semi-bisected petals (so it looks like 10 if you count the tips) and a diameter of about 10mm.

Inspired by the simplicity of the mouse-eared chickweed? You might revel in the clean edges and minimal aesthetics of serenata Flowers' simple flower arrangements.

Good for giving to: Uncomplicated types.

Great mouse-ear chickweeds in literature: Why not write your own poem while you munch on some mouse-ear chickweed soup?

We are the hollow stems
We are the stuff of pens
Leaning together
Two metres high, colour of straw. Phragmites!
Connoting musical voice, when
We whisper together
Quite meaninglessly
In marshes, bogs and shallow lakes.
But in days of yore we cured the aches
Of ailing cottage dwellers.

(With apologies to T.S. Eliot.)

Phragmites australis by visulogik

Good for giving to: Choristers.

Great reeds in literature: Someone clearly didn't agree with the floriographers

It was a very simple little story, that of the slender brown reed which grew by the forest pool and always was sad and sighing because it could not utter music like the brook and the birds and the winds.

From The Golden Road by Lucy Maud Montgomery

From sunshine yellow to cerise pink, gerberas are a simple statement of happiness. Endemic to the sunny lowlands of South Africa, these versatile flowers unsurprisingly embody the light-hearted affability for which antipodeans are renowned.

The combination of bright colour and well-defined petals means these Transvaal daisies look as sensational in arrangements as they do accompanied only by a little bear grass. Rich in the chemical compound coumarin, gerberas have a sweet scent reminiscent of newly mown lawns. This simple aroma must have reminded the floriographers of their childlike gadding in fields, inspiring them to accord gerberas the connotation 'innocent'.

Send gerberas at Serenata Flowers

The Gerbera species (pronounced jur-bra, or gur-ber-a) is named after Traugott Gerber, a German medical doctor active in Moscow during the middle of the 18th century. Although Gerber was the director of a botanical garden who was commissioned to educate students in herbology, there's some curiosity as to why Frederic Gronovius named a perennial plant species from South Africa after him.

Gerberas are from the sunflower family, and the variety typically used in floristry is a hybrid created from gerbera jamesonii and Gerbera viridifolia. A new development is the germini, which was bred for a smaller flower head (about 5cm across) and sturdier stem, keeping it upright for longer.

Gerbera flower delivery made easy with the Lipgloss bouquet from Serenata Flowers

Gerberas don't respond well in overly warm or draughty areas, preferring indirect or filtered light. Their vase life (typically 14 days) is also shortened if they're placed in close proximity to ripening fruit. Check the water level every day; changing the water and trimming the stems every four to five days can double the life of the flowers. If this leaves you with a very short stem, transfer the flowers to a low container to brighten up a bathroom or kitchen.

Good for giving to: Anyone above suspicion.

Great gerberas in literature: Not so innocent, here (although these are plastic ones). Interestingly, there's a variety of lilac germini called 'Aisha' (no 'l'):

& this is how it ends?
Some grimy memorial near stop 14,
duct-taped elegies from school friends
plastic gerberas & bad poems wrapped
around traffic lights, bridge struts, power
poles - stagnant flower vase water trapped
under the false, industrial epidermis;

From 'Alisha's End' by BR Dionysius

Find out more (in fact, all) about gerberas at the All About Gerberas blog.

Barbara, Benjamin, Geoffrey and Jennifer are four rather uproarious Rushes who've proved anything but reedy. Bulbous, Brewer's, Georgia and Jointed, however, are four very reedy rushes that've come to connote 'quietness' in floriography.

Unlike the thespian, troubador and tenderheart Rushes listed above, true rushes are of the Juncus genus in the Juncaceae family and, being marsh plants, are more often spotted in the slime-like than in the limelight. Not that rushes don't reach great heights: they're a popular choice for weaving into thatched rooftops and hanging baskets (the botanical binomial is thought to come from jungere or jungo, meaning to join).

Juncus effusus by Johann Georg Sturm, Deutschlands Flora in Abbildungen (1796)

Good for giving to: Hushed and hollow men.

Great rushes in literature: A folk song that inspired one of Rabbie's classics:

I'll sing you one, Ho (or O)
Green grow the rushes, Ho
What is your one, Ho?
One is one and all alone
And evermore shall be (it) so.

Flies, bees, creepy-crawlies - they're not a miserable bunch are they? Always buzzin' about. Given the buggy background of coreopsis, it makes sense that these flowers are said to connote 'always cheerful' in floriography.

Coreopsis by code poet

But more about the beetly 'genealogy'. Indeed, it goes a lot deeper than the darkened, slightly bug-eyed centres of some species such as Coreopsis tinctoria, or the mandible-resembling toothed petals of the bright yellow Coreopsis gladiata.

Anyone who recognises today's flower may know it by its other insecty name, tickseed, which refers, rather unsurprisingly, to the shape of the flower's seeds. The genus name Coreopsis itself is derived from the Greek 'koris', which is a bedbug.

Insects are great, but they do make some people's skin crawl. So, if you know someone who likes bright yellow daisy-like flowers, but don't want to give them the creepy crawlies, you can always refer to coreopsis as calliopsis, which simply alludes to the flower's beauty.

Good for giving to: Entomologists.

Great coreopsises in literature: New York School poet James Schuyler wrote what has been described as 'a sensual and celebratory poem' called  'Yellow Flowers', described as being about  'an incredibly humble, ubiquitous wildflower, coreopsis'... but it is proving very, very tricky to track down.

What's as unusual as hen's teeth, but fortunately not as rare; as funny as a jester, but looking nothing like his hat? Why, cockscomb of course.

Celosia by Trilochan Kaur

The velvety-textured crinkles of Celosia cristata are out in full force until late autumn, so it's a little curious that the Victorian floriographers chose it as the flower of a mid-winter day. Perhaps they wanted to inspire as much curiosity as the cockscomb: or perhaps thought being a little odd in their allocation would best illustrate the flower's floriographic connotation: 'singularity'.

Celosia in Perfect Pink by Serenata Flowers

Good for giving to: Individualists.

Great cockscombs in literature: In an aptly titled poem that also talks of hens, funnily enough (not their teeth, sadly):

'cut back ivy to make room for dreadful flowers,
blood-red salvia, celosia wicked as cats'
From 'Unnatural'  by Nancy Etchemendy

Remember Cinderella and her ugly sisters? Actually, some stories say they were step-sisters, which would make this analogy fall flat, but cast your mind to the version where they were half-sisters. Young Cinders, raconteurs would have us believe, was quite a babe - but her two semi-siblings were notoriously uneasy on the eye. How come some get all the luck when it comes to looks?

That's the kind of question one can't help but ask oneself when confronted with the Citrus medica family.

First, you've got the Citrus medica var. sarcodactylus, whose deformed fingery fruits are rather kindly given the epithet Buddha's Hand to avoid focusing on their less-than-aesthetic gnarliness (such declarations are a total sell-out to stereotyped conventional notions of beauty, but remember, this is a fruity fairytale).

Finger citron by Fanghong

Then there's the warts-and-all Citrus medica var. etrog. She's a little less ugly, and a little less interesting, but also has a spiritual dimension as an essential guest at the Jewish Feast of the Tabernacles.

Etrog

And finally, there's the pretty young Cinderella of the family: Citrus medica var. citron.

Fruit of the Citron (Citrus medicus) by Benutzer:K reger

OK, she's got slightly thicker skin than her more famous cousin the lemon, but compared to her half-sisters, she's a veritable beauty (conventional norms and all that, again). She wears little clusters of pale white, sometimes purple-tinted, blossoms in her leafy hair and exudes a lovely fragrant scent.

No wonder Miss Citron symbolises 'estrangement' in floriography. If I were her, I wouldn't want to admit any ties with those 'ugly sisters', either. Oh, the vanity!

Good for giving to: Long-lost sisters (or sisters with long-lost slippers).

Great citrons in literature: The origin of the citron is generally deemed to be unknown, but there seems no harm in hindering the Professor's idle reverie:

'Know'st thou the land where the citron blooms, used to be the Professor's favorite line, for 'das land' meant Germany to him, but now he seemed to dwell, with peculiar warmth and melody, upon the words... '
From Little Women by Louisa May Alcott

The story of Lolium temulentum is not one that will heat up your cochleae cordis - or, to put it more plainly, the chronicle of the cockle won't be warming the cockles of your heart.

That's because cockles are something of a fraud. And that's not even counting the confusion that arises from the fact that they share a name with some tasty bivalve molluscs. Although, the greatest confusion caused by this Poaceae family grass does come from ingesting it.

Don't act all surprised; there's a clue that it would all end in a muddle in the species epithet: temulentus is Latin for 'drunken' or 'tipsy'. Aaah, so that explains the cockle's synonym, darnel, from the French word darne, meaning stupefied: not to mention the name used in France for cockles, ivrae, derived from ivre, meaning drunkenness (if botanical.com is to be believed).

Lolium temulentum from Prof. Dr. Otto Wilhelm Thomé's Flora von Deutschland, '-sterreich und der Schweiz (1885)
(source: www.biolib.de)

But even before you become a victim of the cockle's inebriating effects, you might be beset by uncertainty. For cockles look very much like wheat - but they produce no wheat grain. Maybe that's why the Victorians accorded them the floriographic connotations of 'absence'. As for cockles' other meaning, 'vain is beauty without merit', well, we all know about the self-aggrandising glory of those who're under the influence.

Good for giving to: Imposters.

Great cockles in literature: Shakespeare's Berowne knew all about these duplicitous grasses (hey... maybe cockles are the cause of the slang term for finks and snitches?):

'Allons! allons! Sow'd cockle reap'd no corn,
And justice always whirls in equal measure.
Light wenches may prove plagues to men forsworn;
If so, our copper buys no better treasure'
From Love's Labour's Lost (Act IV, Scene III) by William Shakespeare

Have you ever met a bachelor or spinster who not only epitomises delicate beauty and sweetness, but also has a healing touch and yet is consumed by love - or dying for it?

These qualities seemed like contradictions at first, but thinking about it in another way, perhaps Mother Theresa fitted the bill. And indeed, her fans would no doubt concur that she would be a most apt human equivalent of today's pale-blue blossomed marshmallow flower that boasts this string of floriographic connotations.

Althaea officinalis by Pablo Alberto Salguero Quiles o p40p

Contrary to popular belief, a marshmallow is not first and foremost a squidgy confection or even a slang term for a coward. It's Althaea officinalis, a herb in the Malvaceae family.

The species name of this velvety-leaved Eurasian native comes from the Greek word 'althaino', meaning 'to cure'. And cure it does: as well as the root, stems and leaves that have medicinal properties, the panicles of marshmallow flowers can be boiled to create a gargle for sore throats. Something you'd certainly be in need of if, like today's flower, you took to loitering in moist marshy soils.

Good for giving to: Unmarried friends.

Great marshmallows in literature: Subtitled 'A reactionary tract for the times', this poem is more likely talking about confections made with gelatine in lieu of the flower:

'To him ascend the prize orations
And sets of fugal variations
     On some folk-ballad,
While dietitians sacrifice
A glass of prune-juice or a nice
     Marsh-mallow salad.'
From 'Under Which Lyre' (1946) by W.H. Auden

Crass cablecars and common fennel are rather unlikely things to get confused. But it happens; after all, Foeniculum vulgare does sound rather like vulgar funicular to the untrained ear.

To be fair, even the crassest of cable railways that ascend mountains display a formidable strength and are arguably worthy of praise. And seeing as those two qualities are what fennel is said to connote in floriography, there may be more in common between the two than we'd first care to admit.

Fennel flower by titanium22

The similarities probably end there, though. It's unlikely that a cablecar will ever boast a farmy grass-like aroma (foeniculum is actually Latin for 'little hay'), and you certainly can't make one into a delicious meal.

While fennel is best known as a scrumptious herb for seasoning and as a tasty dish in its own right, it also deserves a little notice of its flowers. The umbels of tiny yellow inflorescences make fennel quite a beauty in the herb garden.

Good for giving to: Anyone with strength who deserves a plaudit.

Great fennels in literature: Making a cameo appearance in one of Shakespeare's most famous speeches, this one, by Ophelia:

'There's fennel for you, and columbines...'
From Hamlet, Prince of Denmark

Everything about the Scotch thistle suggests some kind of prickly, stick-in-the-mud defensiveness. And not just because these plants with their spiky leaves and prickly purple flower heads can reach an I-wont-be-messed-with size of 8-feet high and 4-feet wide:

Scotch thistle by lostinfog

Take a look at the botanical name for starters; it even begins with a sound of dissent - Onopordum acanthium. But that 'O no' of refusal soon becomes an 'O no' of mock horror for the slightly prudish when it's discovered that this epithet translates roughly (or should that be crudely?) as 'thorny donkey fart'.

It's not just asses that suffer the side-effects of this bristly flower. According to legend, marauding Vikings were stymied by a carpet of thistles that prevented them from making a surprise attack on the Scots. It's no wonder, then, that this flower appears on the emblem of that country, whose motto is 'No-one provokes me with impunity'. And no wonder the Victorian floriographers accorded Scotch thistle the meaning 'retaliation'.

Good for giving to: Men and women of alba. And pushovers who need a bit of a prop.

Great Scotch thistles in literature: Another case of no-one touching this plant with impunity:

'The thistle is the order for dignity and antiquity; the veritable 'nemo me impune lacessit' of chivalry.'
From The Last of The Mohicans by James Fenimore Cooper

Would living forever bring you eternal contentment? The Victorians must have thought so, for they were quick to accord the meaning 'continual happiness' to the flower commonly known as Life Everlasting (Antennaria margaritaceum or Anaphalis margaritacea). 

Anaphalis margaritacea by by Kurt Stueber

Even more commonly, these flowery aerials of tiny pearly white or yellow daisy-like flowers are called cudweed, which raises the possibility that their floriographic connotation was derived not from human pleasure, but from bovine bliss.

Bliss indeed was on the agenda of the magical practitioners who consider the mildy fragrant Life Everlasting an important ingredient in love philtres and spells that promote longevity and wellbeing.

Good for giving to: Under-the-weather witches.

Great Life Everlastings in literature: We couldn't find any, but please let us know if we're useless at sleuthing.

Quite a literary hero, the Guelder rose. It's appeared not only in Tolstoy's Anna Karenina, buds 'swelled with sap', but also Howards End, where it is the victim of some serious thinning out. Perhaps this literary transformation from nubile shoot to thinning shrub inspired the flower's meaning of 'growing old'. It seems more likely, however, that floriographers would have observed how the plant's tan twigs grey with age.

Guelder Rose by David Orsborne

Despite the suggestion of its name, the flower is neither a native ofthe Netherlands nor a rose - although it is named after the Dutchprovince of Guelderland. A Guelder rose is, in fact, a shrub that is also knownas Viburnum opulus, European cranberry or snowball tree. The lattername gives a good clue to the plant's appearance: star-shaped clustersof cream-coloured, five-petalled flowers surrounded by larger, purewhite blossoms.

Good for giving to: Anyone celebrating a birthday - especially if they have literary pretensions.

Got some good news, but a little shy of sounding the trumpets? A floral fanfare of irises is the subtle alternative.

In Greek mythology, Iris was the messenger of the gods who made her passage between the mortals and the majestic by rainbow. Appropriately, iris flowers also trip the light fantastic over most of the seven-coloured spectrum, although violets, yellows and blues are the most common hues.

Blue iris by Rosana Prada

It's a well-known fact that nobody says 'I love you' quite like the French, but somewhat of a better-kept secret that nobody says 'iris' quite like them, either. The heraldic fleur de lis that adorned the crests of the pre-Republic monarchy is not, in fact, a lily, but an iris.

These heraldic associations are often considered the genesis of the iris's noms de plume: flag flower and sword flag. But these battlefield connotations extend as far east as Japan, where blue irises are considered as symbols of heroism and their colour indicative of a regal bloodline.

Good for giving to: Royalist francophiles, landed gentry, valiant knaves and gossipmongers. They're great for new parents, too - not just because they herald good news, but because the root of the iris was once used to soothe the gums of teething toddlers.

You've seen them in buttonholes, bouquets, and, somewhat less glamorously, on filling-station forecourts. No surprise, really, considering that the carnation is the UK's best-selling flower.

While dianthus caryophyllus' ubiquitous presence in such insalubrious environs as supermarkets and service stations may have secured it the most popular spot, it has also smeared the once-regal flower's reputation. Given the upturned noses carnations often provoke today, it's tricky to imagine that they were once the Greeks' flowers of choice in ceremonial crowns ('coronations') and dubbed 'Jove's flower' by the Romans in honour of one of their top gods.

What's even trickier to believe is that floral trendspotters are predicting a carnation renaissance.  How will those stalwarts of Mothering Sunday bouquets suddenly become must-have accoutrements for the style-conscious? Try clustering together a clump of cocktail-hued carnations for a tiki-style splash of colour - you might just see for yourself.

Speaking of colour, every differently tinted carnation tells its own story: deep red for passion or heartbreak, white for love and luck, pink for woman's love, purple for whimsy and yellow for disappointment.

Good for giving to: Caring mothers, pseudo-angry lovers and Hawai'i-inspired brothers. And anyone without green fingers (carnations last for weeks with very little care).

Dianthus caryophyllus by junko_k.

You can tell just by looking at a white lily that it's followed the path of righteousness. Even before it became associated with the virtues of the Virgin Mary, the flower symbolised purity, innocence and tenderness. In ancient Greece, white lilies were fabled to have grown from drops of milk spilt from the mother-goddess Hera's breast.

Today, Feng Shui practitioners see the lily an emblem of summer and abundance, while the Chinese consider lilies to mean 'forever in love'. The dignified purity of the flowers means they're a fitting symbol for the circle of life, equally appropriate for births, marriages and funerals.

Divas also demand them in their dressing rooms, so you can rest assured you'll impress any princess with a gift of these spectacular, long-lasting flowers.

Good for giving to: Purists, painters and princesses.

It's getting close to the time GCSE and A-level results are released - and with exam success comes celebration.

Anxious parents up and down the country are crossing their fingers, hoping their children have done well, and all will be revealed in the coming month.

With college and university places at stake, exam results day is always a reason to celebrate. Even if the results aren't straight A grades, congratulating your children for their hard work and efforts at school can turn the day into a real occasion.

Of course, many boys may not appreciate a bouquet of amazing flowers, but for daughters, it could be a sure-fire success.

Ordering from an online flower shop is a great way to ensure there is a surprise waiting at home when your offspring return from collecting their results - and you could pair your petals with champagne and a "Congratulations!" card.

Opt for bright colours, like sparkling gerberas; stunning smells from lilies and freesias; or a brilliant bouquet of roses, and your daughter is bound to feel successful no matter what her grades are.

Information brought to you by Serenata Flowers - awarded Which? magazine's Best Flower Delivery Service 2011

Flowers are one of the ultimate gifts - offering amazing colours and smells, and conveying deeply personal messages from "I love you" to "I'm sorry".

As a gift, they are bound to raise a smile - capturing the beauty of nature in a bouquet, and providing a bright, heart-warming centrepiece for any room whilst they last.

Sadly, for all that natural beauty, flowers are delicate creatures, which need care and attention to last. If you get your flower care right, however, then you will be richly rewarded with an array of displays within your arrangement.

For truly special bouquets, though, the moment may seem all too fleeting - if you order flowers for a special occasion, then they are not going to outlast your memories of the moment.

There are ways to keep your flowers preserved though, so that they remain as colourful and interesting as they were when they were alive - whilst allowing you to go back to the time you received them whenever you want.

Drying flowers is a technical process, but one which will ensure you can enjoy your arrangement for years to come.

The easiest way to dry out your flowers is to let them dry naturally in the air. This is a great way to dry roses, for instance. It's a good idea to pick the best flowers at their peak - so you can capture their greatest moment forever, and because drying will show-up imperfections in a noticeable way.

After selecting your flowers to dry, remove low-growing leaves and leave the stems long. Bunch them together and tie them, then gently spread out the bunch so it forms a fan of flowers. You'll need to find somewhere to hang the flowers in a dry place, and it will take up to three weeks before they have dried completely. For particularly delicate flowers, such as roses, inserting a length of flower wire up through the stem and towards the head will help them keep their shape, and prevent the petals from drying out and falling off.

When your flowers are dried, be particularly careful when handling them: they will be extremely delicate and at risk of crumbling if you are not careful.

Information brought to you by Serenata Flowers - awarded Which? magazine's Best Flower Delivery Service 2011

If your holiday coincides with missing a loved ones birthday, or you may have even moved abroad permanently, make sure they know you haven't forgotten by arranging a delivery of flowers.

Flower delivery is one of the most convenient ways of marking someone's birthday, and if you are thousands of miles away in a foreign country this is even more practical.  Simply log onto a flower delivery website online from wherever you are in the world, and start browsing hundreds of choices of bouquets which are guaranteed to make the recipient smile.

Choose their favourite flowers and show an even more thoughtful side.  There are many options available when ordering online, and some companies will even offer free delivery when spending over a certain amount.

Information brought to you by Serenata Flowers - awarded Which? magazine's Best Flower Delivery Service 2011

Most of us have a favorite flower, and if our others halves are sensible they will know it too!  But have you ever wondered what your flower choice says about you?  What is aesthetically pleasing to us can say a lot about our personality.  Read on to find out more;

Rose

A common choice, the rose is often chosen by people who are romantic and traditional.  You may also seek perfection in your life.

Lily

A mothering, nurturing type of person, those who choose lilys are often keen to take care of others.

Carnation

Carnation lovers are down to earth and content with life.  Friends also respect your opinion and will come to you for advice.

Tropical flowers

Those who are drawn to tropical flowers are mysterious and have strong friendships.  Personal appearance is of high importance to you too if you love tropical flowers, and you may have an air of secrecy.

Information brought to you by Serenata Flowers - awarded Which? magazine's Best Flower Delivery Service 2011

For hay fever sufferers, the pleasure of enjoying beautiful flowers can be impossible during summer months.  However, by following advice on some great flower options without the pollen, you too can enjoy the presence of fresh flowers in your home.

Orchids, irises and gladioli are among the flowers which claim to be a safe bet for hay fever sufferers.  They have a low enough pollen count to avoid symptoms.  Agapanthus is another option to add to the bouquet.

While traditional flowers like roses and lilies are out of the question, the flowers listed can make an unusual change, and give recipients the chance to experience a different flower in their homes.

Show you care for a hay fever sufferer this year, and provide them the thoughtful gift of low pollen flowers.

Information brought to you by Serenata Flowers - awarded Which? magazine's Best Flower Delivery Service 2011.

While all of us love our partners and would be lost without them, all too often we forget to show how we feel and take them for granted.  Consider this question - when is the last time you bought her flowers for no reason at all?  The answer is probably quite some time ago at the start of the relationship, if at all.  So let her know you love her as much now as you did then by buying her a spontaneous bouquet for no reason at all.

Such a lovely surprise from the man she loves is likely to make her week.  Get the flowers delivered to her work, with a short note, and you are showing everyone how you feel about that special one.

Choose her favourite flowers to show you put thought into the gesture.  The flowers will bring joy for a number of days or weeks, but the memory of the surprise will put a smile on her face for many years.

Information brought to you by Serenata Flowers - awarded Which? magazine's Best Flower Delivery Service 2011.

Moving away from home for the first time can be really daunting.

With thousands of youngsters getting their A-level results in the past few weeks, many now face the task of choosing a university, sorting their accommodation, and moving away from mum and dad.

It is an exciting time - the first time they have flown the nest, strived for independence and learned how to live off a budget.

But for all the excitement, there are always nerves too. Whilst Fresher's Week gives most new university students a chance to settle in to their new home and get used to their surroundings, the ubiquitous cheap drink offers and Union entertainment events may provide a distraction, but won't ensure any homesickness is cured.

Indeed, getting homesick early on at university can be really hard to cope with - many students who drop out in their first year are the ones who return home soon after starting, or who struggle to get used to life without the familiar friends, family and surroundings of home.

Going to university, however life-changing, is not a negative experience. It is the result of several years' of hard work at school or college, and is something to celebrate and reward.

So, as a parent, you'd be forgiven for wanting to find something that says "well done" and "good luck" at the same time, whilst giving your little ones a reminder of how much you love them, even after they've moved far away.

A perfect present for a new student, then, is a bunch of flowers: a great way to congratulate their work, whilst giving them something pretty and decorative to take to their new accommodation. Flowers can help make a bland student room look homely, even during Fresher's Week, and will provide a brilliant reminder of home whenever your kids need it.

If you're particularly concerned, you could even surprise your offspring by ordering from an online flower shop and getting a bouquet delivered to their student digs as a surprise. Nothing says "we love you, miss you and are thinking about you" better.

Information brought to you by Serenata Flowers - awarded Which? magazine's Best Flower Delivery Service 2011.

It can be the hardest thing in the world knowing what to say to somebody who has lost someone they love.  The right words, the right card, the right flowers.  All you want to do is to show how very sorry you are for their loss.  A simple note expressing your sympathy is often sufficient to show that you care, but why not give some flowers along with your note, to express how deep your feelings lie.

Sympathy flowers can come in many different forms - you may choose the favourite flowers of the person who has passed, or colours to reflect their favourite football team.  Alternatively you may opt for traditional flowers such as lilies, which are elegant and sophisticated at such a sad time.

Whatever you choose in terms of sympathy flowers, the thought is bound to be appreciated by the recipient.

Information brought to you by Serenata Flowers - awarded Which? magazine's Best Flower Delivery Service 2011.

Flowers can be the perfect adornment to a room, and those who are house proud and enjoy entertaining guests will be hard pushed to find a more beautiful focal point to a room than a bouquet of flowers.

Not only do they fill the room with a wonderful smell, flowers provide an instant pick me up for those who get to enjoy them.  Arranged in the right way, they can highlight an attractive area of the room, dining table or mantle piece.  A bouquet of flowers show that you put time and effort into the appearance of your home.

Those who really love to embellish their homes with fresh flowers on a regular basis may find that they co-ordinate colours with the decor in the room.  For example, a room painted in white or cream can get away with a loud splash of colour with some shocking pink lily's or rose's, whereas rooms painted in a particular colour would be best coordinated in order not to clash.

Information brought to you by Serenata Flowers - awarded Which? magazine's Best Flower Delivery Service 2011.

When it comes to choosing flowers for your table centre piece you dont have to settle for the traditional bouquet, why not be a little experimental.

The type of flower will totally depend on what you want and the look you are aiming to achieve  For a more delicate and dainty feel orchids and lilies are great choices  However, if you wanted more of a bold romantic statement then roses will be fantastic  Adding vines, ivory and other leaf types is also a good idea to break up colours and make the piece more subtle.

The fragrance of the flower may be what you are basing the centre piece on  Lilies can be a strong smell so may not be suitable  Having a lavender flower for scent can create a beautiful aroma and also look great.

If you are looking to be more experimental and move away from the traditional bouquet, why not try a fish bowl flower centrepiece  This is where the flowers are wrapped around the inside of the bowl in different ways  You can choose the flowers you desire in the colours you wish  You will find different flowers will have varied results and effects  You can also incorporate charms, candles and other trinkets which you may find appealing and create a welcoming ambience to the event.

Keeping the piece simplistic can sometimes be the best way to get the results you want  Dont have loads of different types of flowers, fragrances and colours as this may too over powering  Sticking to a theme such as colour is a great way to get the most beautiful table centre piece you could have asked for.

Information brought to you by Serenata Flowers - awarded Which magazines Best Flower Delivery Service 2011.

The next time you decide to rendezvous with a friend or a loved one, why not take a bunch of flowers for them  You will be sure to surprise them in a lovely way as flowers will guarantee to put a smile on their face and make them feel that extra bit special.

Whether they are young or old, male or female everybody loves getting flowers, they instantly lift your mood and create memories that are cherished forever.

The are a choice of flowers available at shops and there are also flowers online, which can lead to a little confusion and leave you slightly desperate to pick any old flowers before you rush off  Yet some of the classic favourites with which you cant go wrong include Peonies, Roses, Lilies, Daisies and Gerberas.

Flowers are often given on days of occasion such as birthdays and weddings or as congratulation gifts, but who is to say that meeting a friend is not an occasion worthy of flowers Especially if you have not seen them for long time, flowers will definitely make it a unique day to remember.

There is belief that meanings and symbols are attached to all sorts of flowers, and although certain flowers do appear quite frequently at specific events there are no rules about which flowers represent saying a friendly hello So when you do go to buy a bouquet for your friend just ensure to pick the flowers that appeal to you the most.

One of the great things about flowers is that they last for days after they are initially given or received So when your friend takes them home not only will they brighten up a room in their home but every time those flowers are seen assembled in a vase they will instantly be reminded of you and that great day you both had together.

Information brought to you by Serenata Flowers - awarded Which magazines Best Flower Delivery Service 2011.