 | [The Old Garden, in] Grandma's Garden |  |
5
The Old Garden.
It's well enough: looks kinder knowin',
Them red and yeller leaves and things:
They make a mortal sight o' showin',
Some like a bird that never sings.
Them red and yeller leaves and things:
They make a mortal sight o' showin',
Some like a bird that never sings.
But birds to sing, and blows for smellin',
Was what we had when I was young:
A patchwork quilt is jist as tellin'
As them things on the grassplot flung.
Was what we had when I was young:
A patchwork quilt is jist as tellin'
As them things on the grassplot flung.
You'd ought to seen my granny's gardin,
With pinks as sweet as any spice,
And posy-beds she worked so hard in
To keep 'em square and clean and nice.
With pinks as sweet as any spice,
And posy-beds she worked so hard in
To keep 'em square and clean and nice.
Tulips—my land! their bright cups holdin'
Right up to catch the sun and dew,
Purple and white and brown an' golden,
And red with sunshine streamin' through.
Right up to catch the sun and dew,
Purple and white and brown an' golden,
And red with sunshine streamin' through.
6
And Canterbury-bells a-swingin',
Dim blue like bits of April sky,
And dancin' columbines a-ringin'
For every bee an' butterfly.
Dim blue like bits of April sky,
And dancin' columbines a-ringin'
For every bee an' butterfly.
Crocus an' hyacinths an' daffy,
Yeller as dandelines to see,
A-lookin' at ye kinder laughy,
As though to say, “Why, here we be!”
Yeller as dandelines to see,
A-lookin' at ye kinder laughy,
As though to say, “Why, here we be!”
And white narcissus, straight and slender,
With rings of red fire in their snow;
And little snowflakes, just as tender
As things that in a greenhouse blow.
With rings of red fire in their snow;
And little snowflakes, just as tender
As things that in a greenhouse blow.
And roses—my! that tall old white one,
Milk with the sunrise in the cup,
And some most red enough to fright one,
And pink, like sea-shells curling up.
Milk with the sunrise in the cup,
And some most red enough to fright one,
And pink, like sea-shells curling up.
Roses don't smell like them no longer,
There's smoke an' bone-dust in 'em now:
Mabbe the bushes do grow stronger,
But I'd as lieves they'd smell as grow.
There's smoke an' bone-dust in 'em now:
Mabbe the bushes do grow stronger,
But I'd as lieves they'd smell as grow.
And lilies—well, they was too splendid,
All dazzlin' white, an' gold inside,
Jest as though Natur had intended
To make a blossom for a bride.
All dazzlin' white, an' gold inside,
Jest as though Natur had intended
To make a blossom for a bride.
7
Oh, yes! I know your Jap-pan lilies,
As big as p'inies, and as proud:
They smell—oh my!—and amaryllis,
No smell at all,—a pretty crowd!
As big as p'inies, and as proud:
They smell—oh my!—and amaryllis,
No smell at all,—a pretty crowd!
Give me the old Dutch honeysuckle
A-makin' even the night-time sweet,
A-blossomin' at every knuckle,
And hangin' to your very feet.
A-makin' even the night-time sweet,
A-blossomin' at every knuckle,
And hangin' to your very feet.
And pink and buff and white carnations,
And rosebuds snuggled up in moss,
Heart's-ease and vi'lets, dear relations,
And gay snapdragons, bright and cross.
And rosebuds snuggled up in moss,
Heart's-ease and vi'lets, dear relations,
And gay snapdragons, bright and cross.
Give me the good old week-day blossoms
I used to see so long ago,
With hearty sweetness in their bosoms,
Ready and glad to bud an' blow.
I used to see so long ago,
With hearty sweetness in their bosoms,
Ready and glad to bud an' blow.
Well, well, I know them days is over,
And I have lost my clear young eyes;
But can't I still smell pinks and clover?
I tell you some things never dies!
And I have lost my clear young eyes;
But can't I still smell pinks and clover?
I tell you some things never dies!
| [The Old Garden, in] Grandma's Garden | |