Take two pecks of damask rose buds, pick off the green part, and strew in the bottom of a jar a handful of large bay salt.
The lady in the private box flung her a bouquet of damask roses.
Thora is busy about her napery––the finest of Irish linen and damask.
She went to a window, drew back the damask curtain, and gazed out.
Only she twisted her damask napkin till it seemed as if she must tear it in pieces.
“That is a damask,” (the figured silk made at Damascus) she said.
The rose again mantled on her cheek, but the blush was heightened to damask.
Shawls and ribosos of damask, laces, gowns of satin, of velvet.
She betrayed the sharpness of the wound only by a deepening of the damask flush.
"The lily and the damask rose," I heard the Squire's wife say to the Squire.
