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“Thank you,” he said; gratitude—undoubtedly because of the bourbon—rose up inside him, constricting his throat.

Why, it seems that on a sultry day in June, this worthy citizen having done ample honors to the god of the grape, was reposing under a tree on a fragrant bed of clover, when an industrious bee, foraging among the flowers, espied his crimson proboscis, and supposing it to be a Bourbon rose, alighted upon it, in the vain expectation of extracting honey for the hive.

Maintain smoochiness with Chantecaille’s gorgeous Bourbon Rose Lip Chic and see if you can make the Valentine thing last a tad longer.

All the horrors of the sack by the Constable de Bourbon rose up to their imaginations,—or rather memories, for many there were who were old enough to remember that terrible day.

The Bourbon rose could not hold aside her skirts from contact with the cabbage-rose; the lavender could not disdain the companionship of sage and thyme.