To Vauxhall The English Garden
The cold transparent ham is on my fork It hardly rains--and hark the bell
--ding dingle Away
Three thousand feet at gravel work,
Mocking a Vauxhall shower
The cold transparent ham is on my fork It hardly rains--and hark the bell
--ding dingle Away
Three thousand feet at gravel work,
Mocking a Vauxhall shower
(The Garden of Life in Spenser's "Faerie Queene
")IT is no fabled garden in the skies,
But bloometh here— this is no world of death;
And nothing that once liveth, ever dies,
IT is full summer now, the heart of June, Not yet the sun-burnt reapers are a-stir Upon the upland meadow where too soon Rich autumn time, the season's usurer, Will lend his hoarded gold to all the trees, And see his treasure scattered by the wild...
The sunlight on the
Hardens and grows cold,
We cannot cage the
Within its nets of gold;
The Convent garden lies so near The road the people go,
If it was quiet you might hear The nuns' talk, merry and low
Black London trees have made their screen From folk who pry and peer,
The sooty sparrows now begin Their talk of co...
I mind me in the days departed,
How often underneath the
With childish bounds I used to run To a garden long deserted
The beds and walks were vanished quite;
A black cat among roses,
Phlox, lilac-misted under a first-quarter moon,
The sweet smells of heliotrope and night-scented stock
The garden is very still,
Girl, with the soft grey eyes,
You to the flowers belong:
From the perfume of a
My heart shall weave you a song
Our England is a garden that is full of stately views,
Of borders, beds and shrubberies and lawns and avenues,
With statues on the terraces and peacocks strutting by;
But the Glory of the Garden lies in more than meets the eye
I laid me down upon a bank, Where Love lay sleeping;
I heard among the rushes dank Weeping, weeping
Then I went to the heath and the wild, To the thistles and thorns of the waste;
And they told me how they were beguiled, Driven out,...
ED roses bright, pink roses and white That bud and blossom and fall;
The very sight of my heart's delight Is more than worth them all
Is worth far more than the whole sweet store That ever a garden grew-- She plucked the best to die at h...
When our babe he goeth walking in his garden,
Around his tinkling feet the sunbeams play;
The posies they are good to him,
And bow them as they should to him,