Did you know daisies mean "day's eye"? The stories behind 10 flower names

The names of the flowers blooming in gardens, parks, and shops carry centuries of linguistic history. Modern botanical taxonomies standardized plant classification, but everyday names were forged through visual observation, ancient mythology, and cultural trade. Exploring flower etymologies reveals how past generations perceived the natural world. Keep reading to discover the origin of the names of 10 common flowers.

The common bright yellow flower often dismissed as a lawn weed derives its name from an anatomical comparison. "Dandelion" enters English from the Anglo-French phrase dent-de-lion, which translates literally to "lion’s tooth".

Rather than referring to the yellow blossom, the name describes the plant’s sharp green leaves. Medieval botanists noted that these jagged edges of foliage closely resembled the sharp incisors of a lion. Similar literal translations exist in other languages, including the German Löwenzahn and the Spanish diente de león.

Derived from the Ancient Greek adjective azaleos, meaning "dry" or "parched", the azalea received its name from the pioneering Swedish botanist Carl Linnaeus in the 18th century.

Linnaeus picked the name because this flower typically thrives in dry sandy soils and suffers when rooted in waterlogged ground. Though modern gardeners associate azaleas with damp spring rains and temperate woodlands, the name is a tribute to the plant’s preference for dry soil conditions.

The name of the garden pansy originates from the Middle French word pensée, meaning "thought" or "remembrance" (derived from the Latin verb pensare, meaning "to consider" or "to ponder").

During the Renaissance, herbalists felt the flower’s dark center and forward-facing petals resembled a human face bowed slightly forward in deep contemplation. Because of this association, pansies became traditional gifts to signal that the giver was thinking of the recipient, a symbolism later immortalized in Shakespeare’s Hamlet when Ophelia remarks, "there is pansies, that’s for thoughts".

The etymology of "carnation" follows two intertwined historical paths. The most widely accepted origin traces back to the Middle French carnation and the Latin carnatio (derived from caro, meaning "flesh"), referencing the soft pinkish flesh tone characteristic of the original wild blooms.

Another linguistic influence stems from "coronation". In ancient Greece and Rome, carnation blooms were woven into floral crowns (coronae) worn during ceremonial festivities and royal coronation rites. Over centuries of English usage, the terms for flesh color and ceremonial crowns merged into the modern word.

The story of the tulip’s name reflects the historical trade routes between Western Europe and the Ottoman Empire during the 16th century. The word comes into English via Middle French (tulipe) and Italian (tulipano), which adapted the Ottoman Turkish word tülbend (derived from the Persian dulband), meaning "turban".

European travelers visiting Constantinople were impressed by the resemblance between the folded layers of fabric in a traditional Ottoman turban and the cup-shaped, overlapping petals of the flower.

"Daisy" stands as an example of Old English botanical descriptive naming. Originating from the compound word dægesēage (literally translating to "day’s eye"), the name describes the flower’s natural sleep movement.

At nightfall, a daisy’s white outer petals fold inward over its central yellow disk. As dawn arrives, the petals unfold, exposing the golden center to the morning sun, mimicking an eye opening at the break of day.

Coined by French botanist Philibert Commerson in the 18th century, "hydrangea" combines two ancient Greek roots: hydr- (meaning "water") and angeion (meaning "vessel", "picher", or "capsule").

Many gardeners assume the name refers to the plant’s high water requirements; however, it actually describes the distinct shape of the plant’s mature seed pods. Once the colorful petals drop, the small seed capsules resemble traditional Greek water jars or pitchers.

Popularly known as pot marigold, "calendula" derives its name from the Medieval Latin calendula, a diminutive form of calendar (the "calends", or the first day of each month in the Roman calendar).

The Romans observed that in mild Mediterranean climates, calendula plants bloomed on or near the first day of almost every month of the year. This way, the name acts as a botanical calendar.

The word "petunia" arrived in European languages during the 18th century through French botanical reports from South America. French herbalists adapted the word pétun, an early French term for tobacco borrowed from petyn, a word used by the indigenous Tupi-Guarani peoples of Brazil.

When early European explorers encountered petunias growing wild in South America, they recognized their close physical resemblance to tobacco plants. Modern taxonomy confirmed this intuition: both petunias and tobacco belong to the nightshade family (Solanaceae).

Named after Iris, the Greek goddess of the rainbow and divine messenger between heaven and earth, this classic garden perennial boasts an ancient name.

In Greek mythology, the goddess Iris traveled along rainbows, connecting the realms of gods and mortals. Ancient botanists bestowed her name upon the flower because of its remarkable spectrum of natural colors, ranging from deep purple and cobalt blue to yellow, pink, and white.

Beloved lyrics

"For what is a man?": Some of the wisest lyric lines ever written

Paul Anka was terrified when he sat down to write the lyrics for a song that Frank Sinatra would be singing. Jokingly, he started with a dramatic, "And now, the end is near…" The rest is history. Who are the people who pen the words that others will spend decades repeating? How did they come up with words so precise and true that listeners would compare them with those of great philosophers? Here are 10 of people’s favorite lyrics of all time, decoded.

"For what is a man? What has he got? If not himself, then he has naught." The melody of "My Way" wasn't originally American. It began as a French song called Comme d'habitude, a number about a couple stuck in a stale marriage. Paul Anka heard it on the radio while in France and bought the rights on the spot, before he had any use for it.

That use arrived at a dinner in Miami, when Sinatra told him, almost in passing, that he was quitting the business. Anka flew home, sat down at a typewriter, and spent one night writing lyrics as if Sinatra himself were speaking them. Sinatra recorded it in two takes and later called it his "national anthem," and many agreed; Anka had written the exact words one wants to belt while closing an episode of their life.

In "Beautiful Boy (Darling Boy)," John Lennon wrote: "Life is what happens to you while you are busy making other plans." But the phrase originated with American writer and cartoonist Allen Saunders, who published it in a 1957 issue of Reader's Digest ("Life is what happens to us while we are making other plans").

The line outlived everything else about the song, repeated at graduations and eulogies for decades since. Lennon was murdered shortly after the album's release, which means the song now carries a weight of hindsight neither he nor his listeners could have intended at the time.

"How many roads must a man walk down before you call him a man?" A young Bob Dylan wrote "Blowin' in the Wind" in 1962. He later claimed he wrote the entire song in about ten minutes at the Gaslight Cafe in Greenwich Village, borrowing its melody from the old spiritual "No More Auction Block." He was twenty-one, barely a year into his New York career, and insisted at the time it wasn't a protest song at all.

The song never answers its questions, but keeps asking them. First published in the folk magazine Broadside in May 1962, it became the unofficial anthem of the civil rights and antiwar movements once Peter, Paul and Mary's cover shot to number two on the charts in 1963.

"... is equal to the love you make." This is the last song the four Beatles ever recorded together, and Paul McCartney built it deliberately as a farewell. He gave Ringo Starr his only drum solo in the band's history, a fight McCartney had to win through what he called "gentle persuasion," since Starr detested solos on principle.

For the closing line, McCartney said he'd been thinking about Shakespeare, who often ended a scene with a rhyming couplet so the audience would know it was truly over. Even John Lennon, who generally disliked the Abbey Road medley and rarely praised his old partner's work by 1980, admitted the closing thought was "a very cosmic, philosophical line."

"... but it’s better than drinking alone." "Piano Man", by Billy Joel, narrates a song in which the character is real. Joel wrote it about the six months he spent playing piano under the fake name "Bill Martin" at a Los Angeles lounge called The Executive Room. Even the waitress "practicing politics" was Elizabeth Weber, the woman who'd soon become his wife.

Joel wrote it while hiding out from a record label he was desperate to escape after his debut album flopped. It became a bittersweet anthem that many people love singing with others; it seems like, as the song suggests, singing sorrows together at the bar is better than feeling them at home.

The whole song "Both Sides Now," by Joni Mitchell, is often quoted as a deeply philosophical observation of life. It concludes that some mysteries of life are as unknowable as the clouds, or love, despite accumulating experience.

When she wrote it, Mitchell had recently given up a daughter for adoption after being left by the child's father. She was twenty-three, mid-flight, after a passage in Saul Bellow's novel Henderson the Rain King described its narrator looking down at clouds from an airplane, something human eyes had only been able to do for a few decades. Judy Collins released it first in 1967 and won a Grammy for it; Mitchell's own version didn't appear until her 1969 album Clouds.

Kris Kristofferson’s song, "Me and Bobby McGee", contains one of people’s favorite quotes from song lyrics. Its title came from producer Fred Foster, who suggested Kristofferson write a song about his colleague's secretary, Barbara "Bobbie" McKee.

Its most quoted idea about freedom and loss was inspired, Kristofferson later said, by the final scene of Fellini's La Strada, in which a man realizes too late what he threw away. Roger Miller released it first, but it was Janis Joplin's posthumous 1971 recording, finished mere days before her death, that turned it into a number one hit and an accidental epitaph.

"... and I'm getting older too." Nicks says she wrote "Landslide" in about five minutes, sitting in a rented house in Aspen while her partner and musical collaborator, Lindsey Buckingham, was on tour rehearsing with the Everly Brothers. The song's real subject isn't romance, but the vertigo of watching time pass. She was twenty-seven, broke, working as a waitress and a cleaner, and their duo album had just been dropped by its label.

Looking at the snow on the Rockies, she found herself deciding whether to keep chasing music at all. Three months later, Mick Fleetwood heard Buckingham's guitar work on a demo and invited the pair into Fleetwood Mac, which changed their lives. The song has now aged into an anthem for anyone facing a hinge point in their own life.

"You can't always get what you want, but if you try sometime you'll find you get what you need." Mick Jagger sketched this one alone on an acoustic guitar, calling it "one of those bedroom songs." It closed 1969's Let It Bleed just as the decade's peace-and-love optimism was cracking.

The song is upbeat and simple, and unexpectedly insists on an idea of acceptance or surrender that has more to do with Stoic philosophy than with pop rock optimism. But the listeners liked it, and many quote it often.

"...that's how the light gets in." Leonard Cohen worked on "Anthem" for roughly a decade, discarding draft after draft, before it finally appeared on his 1992 album The Future. He wasn't a man given to explaining his own lyrics, having spent years training as an ordained Zen Buddhist monk and generally preferring silence to self-analysis.

But "Anthem" has the clearest statement of a philosophy he'd circled his entire career: that brokenness can give way to grace. It has since been invoked by human rights activists, quoted at protests, and performed at civic ceremonies.