Shakespeare wrote of this flower, the harebell: 

With fairest flowers, 

Whilst summer lasts, and I live here, Fidele,

I'll sweeten thy sad grave: thou shalt not lack

The flower that's like thy face, pale primrose, nor

The azured hare-bell, like thy veins; no, nor

The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander,

Out-sweeten’d not thy breath.