It stood near the brow of a Bosoming hill, which sheltered it, both with wood and clevice, from the rigor and fury of the north and east; while in front the sloping foreground widened its soft lap of green.
"Erema My Father's Sin"
R. D. Blackmore
I steadily gazed at my silent pen, Attempting to keep from my straying ken An Eden of woods, of Bosoming hills, Of verdant hedges, of wandering rills.
"The Dales of Arcady"
Dorothy Una Ratcliffe