childhood, natureblue, garden,
by Jemmy Farmer |
The garden where I could suppose,
I loved a little flower
with scented leaves, but not a rose,
a wasted childhood hour.
Among the blooms of regal love
a violet had my heart;
she hid within the garden grove
where salad leaves depart.
She shined beneath the window box
within my hideaway
a glimpse of blue by clustered phlox
and I would stay all day.
My pride and joy in this wee plot,
I'd sit and watch her grow,
impatient child who sulked a lot
but sat through wind and snow
And smiled into the summer sun
when first a bud appeared
a burst of blue would soon be done
once more my heart was cheered.
by James Watkin |
As what lights up, and suddenly
Gives it everlasting fame;
That once dim-walked part of it;
Or what sadder, dimmer
And ever unspotted, lane-sulked
For city's lonely shame;
At just the right time and place
With scroll a-flutter in hand
Fate's Archangel! In whose outline
Unfuzzed if foggier
What in the person of True Love
Before them now does stand.