Yes, the iris gleams upon the burnished dove as Bertie Wooster would say. T’is the season when a lad wants to dance upon the freshet and lassies long to be saved from trained assassins for verily that’s what spring is for?
From The Inimitable Jeeves:
After breakfast I lit a cigarette and went to the open window to inspect the day. It certainly was one of the best and brightest.
Jeeves,’ I said.
‘Sir?’ said Jeeves. He had been clearing away the breakfast things, but at the sound of the young master’s voice cheesed it courteously.
‘You were absolutely right about the weather. It is a juicy morning.’
‘Decidedly, sir.’ ‘Spring and all that.’ ‘Yes, sir.’
‘In the spring, Jeeves, a livelier iris gleams upon the burnished dove.’
‘So I have been informed, sir.’
‘Right ho! Then bring me my whangee, my yellowest gloves, and the old green Homburg. I’m going into the Park to do pastoral dances.’
I don’t know if you know that sort of feeling you get on these days round about the end of April and the beginning of May, when the sky’s a light blue, with cotton-wool clouds, and there’s a bit of a breeze blowing from the west? Kind of uplifted feeling. Romantic, if you know what I mean. I’m not much of a ladies’ man, but on this particular morning it seemed to me that what I really wanted was some charming girl to buzz up and ask me to save her from assassins or something. So that it was a bit of an anti-climax when I merely ran into young Bingo Little, looking perfectly foul in a crimson satin tie decorated with horseshoes.
S.K.
Planet of the Blind 
LOL! Perfect. The pastoral dances and the perfectly foul are great. With a touch of Gertrude Stein.
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