 | Birds, Bees and Blossoms |  |
127
THE COUNTRY CHILD.
Ah, poor child! I know you well;
I saw the waggon that you came in
From the cot beside the dell,
Where the foxglove flowers were flaming;
And baskets bellied out with gold
Of gorse, a yellow light was throwing:
But when your cottage home was sold,
You left these treasures “All-a-blowing.”
I saw the waggon that you came in
From the cot beside the dell,
Where the foxglove flowers were flaming;
And baskets bellied out with gold
Of gorse, a yellow light was throwing:
But when your cottage home was sold,
You left these treasures “All-a-blowing.”
128
Other feet now press those walks,
And that summer arbour tread,
Train the roses round the balks,
And weed the speckled pansy bed
Where thy poor parents hoped to die.
Ever coming, ever going,
Thousands still listen to that cry
Of “All-a-blowing, all-a-growing.”
And that summer arbour tread,
Train the roses round the balks,
And weed the speckled pansy bed
Where thy poor parents hoped to die.
Ever coming, ever going,
Thousands still listen to that cry
Of “All-a-blowing, all-a-growing.”
It calls up bleating lambs at play,
The throstle's song at early morn;
Perfume of moonlight-coloured May,
The smell of new hay homeward borne;
Murmur of golden-banded bees,
The “rasp, rasp, rasp,” of mowers, mowing;
Rich blossoms of the orchard trees,
“All-a-blowing, all-a-growing:”
The throstle's song at early morn;
Perfume of moonlight-coloured May,
The smell of new hay homeward borne;
Murmur of golden-banded bees,
The “rasp, rasp, rasp,” of mowers, mowing;
Rich blossoms of the orchard trees,
“All-a-blowing, all-a-growing:”
Calls back the gold-beaked blackbird's song,
Heard while in green lanes wandering;
The cuckoo shouting all day long,
And mocked by children in the spring;
Daisies that dews of silver hold,
Bright buttercups in sunshine glowing,
And flashing backward gold for gold,
“All-a-blowing, all-a-growing.”
Heard while in green lanes wandering;
The cuckoo shouting all day long,
And mocked by children in the spring;
Daisies that dews of silver hold,
Bright buttercups in sunshine glowing,
And flashing backward gold for gold,
“All-a-blowing, all-a-growing.”
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