There might ye ſee the pioney ſpread vvide, / The full-blovvn roſe, the ſhepherd and his laſs, / Lap-dog and lambkin vvith black ſtaring eyes, / And parrots vvith tvvin cherries in their beak.
'Twas early June, the new grass was flourishing everywheres, the posies in the yard—peonies and such—in full bloom, the sun was shining, and the water of the bay was blue, with light green streaks where the shoal showed.
1940, Rosetta E. Clarkson, Green Enchantments: The Magic Spell of Gardens, The Macmillan Company, page 258:
Peony would keep away any kind of storms. Mugwort hung over doorways on Midsummer's Day, June 24, would keep off lightning, as St. John's-Wort would if gathered before sunrise on that day.
2023 September 29, Molly Fitzpatrick, “He’s the Pawpaw King of Brooklyn. (What’s a Pawpaw?)”, in The New York Times, →ISSN:
Mr. Farzan’s narrow backyard in Brooklyn’s South Slope neighborhood is a lush, if slightly chaotic, oasis. There are Fuji apples, Meyer lemons, figs, peonies and avocados — although that’s far from a complete census of all that grows there.
She was a fine and handsome girl—not handsomer than some others, possibly—but her mobile peony mouth and large innocent eyes added eloquence to colour and shape.