Root of wash'd sweet-flag!
"Leaves of Grass" by Walt Whitman
All went well until we came to a bog by the roadside, where sweet-flag and cat-tails grew.
"A New England Girlhood" by Lucy Larcom
John knew the best place to dig sweet-flag in all the farm; it was in a meadow by the river, where the bobolinks sang so gayly.
"Being a Boy" by Charles Dudley Warner
Then Billie laughed right out loud, he felt so much better, and he ate some acorns and the sweet-flag root, nibbling at it with his sharp teeth.
"Lulu, Alice and Jimmie Wibblewobble" by Howard R. Garis
The country of the Fertile Plain of Sweet Flags was transformed.
"The Religions of Japan" by William Elliot Griffis
No country can be a "Sweet Home" to the man who repudiates his own nation's flag.
"A Dream of Empire" by William Henry Venable
He is as genuine, as wholesome and real as sweet-flag and clover.
"The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 13, No. 77, March, 1864" by Various
Water parsnip, sweet flag, cinquefoil, bat's blood, deadly nightshade, and oil.
"The Witch-cult in Western Europe" by Margaret Alice Murray
Sweet flag was abundant, and close by grew a clump of dark green, spicy mint.
"Followers of the Trail" by Zoe Meyer
Beside the moist clods the slender flags arise, filled with the sweetness of the earth.
"The Hills and the Vale" by Richard Jefferies
You came, and the sun came after,
And the green grew golden above;
And the flag-flowers lightened with laughter,
And the meadow-sweet shook with love.
"An Interlude" by Algernon Charles Swinburne
Then Earth her sweet unscented breathes,
An orb of lustre quits the height;
And like blue iris-flags, in wreaths
The sky takes darkness, long ere quite.
"The Thrush In February" by George Meredith
Oh, ask me not the haven of our ships,
Nor what flag floats above you!
I hold you close, I kiss your sweet, sweet lips,
And love you, love you, love you!
""Oh, Ask Me Not"" by John Charles McNeill
For one dark day we found her dead:
Oh she was sweet to see!
Exalted in her garret bed
With face like ivory . . .
Aye, though from lack of food she died,
Unflawed she flagged her pride.
"Charity" by Robert W Service
Owre lofty here, ilk charm to trace,
That deck, sweet plain! thy cultur'd face;
Aft down the steep he'd tak a race,
Nor, rinning, flag,
Till up he'd climb, wi' rapid pace
Yon 'abbey craig.'
"The Links O' Forth : Or, A Parting Peep At The Carse O' Sterling" by Hector MacNeill