… with hollyhocks, and borders of box.
[Source: New England: Indian Summer (1940), p. 348]
Note:
That is slight; I cite it
merely, as a rebuke to those (and they -- like Satan’s names -- are legion) who wag their fingers against any
appearance of rhyme or rhythm in prose.
The larger context here was:
…yards overflowing with larkspurs,
petunias, and asters, with hollyhocks, and borders of box.
That final rhyme, then, brings back the borders of that
petunia’d profusion, to something like the order of a proper flower-bed.
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