"Then on the blood sweet nectar she bestows,"

Then on the blood sweet nectar she bestows, The scented blood in little bubbles rose: Little as rainy drops, which flutt'ring fly, Born by the winds, along a low'ring sky. Short time ensu'd, 'till where the blood was shed, A flow'r began to rear its purple head... Still here the Fate of lovely forms we see, So sudden fades the sweet Anemonie. The feeble stems, to stormy blasts a prey, Their sickly beauties droop, and pine away. The winds forbid the flow'rs to flourish long, Which owe to winds their names in Grecian song.

- Ovid, Metamorphoses, Book X