Every March, Lenten lilies dot the hedgerows with pale yellow blooms, reminding me of childhood walks.

In the summer garden, torch lilies flared like small beacons along the path.

The gardener carefully arranged the Amazon lilies in a shaded greenhouse to protect their delicate blooms.

The gardener was surprised to find piss lilies thriving along the compost heap, their odd scent attracting flies.

We spent the afternoon sketching the water lilies by the old stone bridge.

Every spring, my grandmother arranged bouquets of lilies of the valley on the kitchen table.

She arranged a bouquet of lilies-of-the-valley on the kitchen table, filling the room with their sweet scent.

Every summer, the old porch box bursts with fragrant tiger lilies that fill the air with a honeyed scent.

In the misty field, spider lilies opened like red lanterns along the old path.

The conservatory was filled with the delicate scent of Jacobean lilies, their petals recalling portraits from a bygone court.