There are not many flowers I balance between liking or loathing as I do with the hyacinth.

Popping from bulbs in early spring the hyacinth along with the daffodil perfectly evoke the Easter Season. They smell sweet, their big heads flop over and they last for a glimmer of a moment in the earth. As any florist can attest hyacinth stems are questionable, do you cut the stump and risk loosing the leafs or keep it on? Either way it's a short round pungently sweet thing edging into the common category as it parades its way into more deli's.

I guess it's as debatable as finding Hyacinth Bucket (pronounced bouquet) from Keeping up Appearances hilarious or annoying. 

I say deliciously hilarious. 

The Hyacinth has also been a flower of some great importance. Named after a charming mythological tale of a young person who, dying in the springtime of life, is fittingly changed into a flower. 

Poor Apollo accidentally lobbed off his dear companions head while throwing a discus. Alas, the jealous Zephyr from the west wind was believed to be the true culprit of Hyacinth's death, something of a homosexual lovers triangle if you will. As horror struck Apollo held the injured Hyacinth he watched as the bloodstained grass bloomed a wondrous flower, hence the hyacinth. 

Mozart that little whiz wrote his first true opera at age 11 based on this myth.   

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