And Rowland stooped and picked up his hat, which had rolled away into a bed of cyclamen, in vague symbolism of an actual physical tussle.
"Roderick Hudson"
Henry James
A lady sent it me, to prove She held my friendship in esteem; I would not have it as she said, I wanted it to be for love; And now not even friends we seem, And now the cyclamen is dead.
"Robert F. Murray his poems with a memoir by Andrew Lang"
Robert F. Murray
She could see him talking to her father, and taking out a wisp of a handkerchief that smelled of cyclamen, she had a good scrub round.
"Beyond"
John Galsworthy