"Follow me," said the king of the fairies, and away they went across the Irish Ocean, every mother's son of them astride his ragwort.
"The Fairy-Faith in Celtic Countries"
W. Y. Evans Wentz
Lovely blue bell-flowers grow in patches; golden ragwort, two sorts of field scabious, yellow toad-flax, and occasionally some white campion remain almost into winter.
"A Cotswold Village"
J. Arthur Gibbs
Sometimes the heavy cloud folds everything in its leaden wing, blotting out even the streaming village at our feet, and reducing our view to the immediate slope below us where the wilted ragwort and rank weeds bend before the tiny torrents which trickle everywhere.
"A Holiday in the Happy Valley with Pen and Pencil"
T. R. Swinburne