University of Virginia Library

THE HEDGE IN THE GREEN LANE.

Under the hedge where I recline,
Screened from the sultry summer-shine,
I have a garden fair to see,
As good as the duke's, if it pleases me.
And these my flowers: the slim harebell,
With slender cups where the fairies dwell;
And the dewy daisy, crimson tipped,
As pure as a child, and as rosy-lipped;
And golden-yellow, all glinting up,
The celandine, and the buttercup,
And the dandelion, with milky ring,
Coins of the mintage of the Spring;
And the pimpernel, that sleeps at noon,
Like an Eastern maiden flushed with June;
And the blue forget-me-not, flower of maids
Who dream of Love in the evening shades;
And the wild wood-strawberry, opening fair
Its petals five to the sunny air:
And the trailing ivy that braids and weaves,
And makes a carpet of its leaves,
Or climbs like a child to the gnarled knee
Of the great, high-spreading, old oak tree;
And the woodbine, scattering sweet perfume,
And the meadow-sweet, and the bonnie broom—
Dear to our hearts for a thousand songs,
Of Love's delight and lovers' wrongs;
And briony, cousin of the vine,
Up-clambering with its fingers fine,
And hanging from each sheltering tree,
Its garlands of embroidery,
With sea-green berries and twisted rings,
Fit for the diadems of kings—
But far more fitting and bright and rare,
As a wreath for childhood's forehead fair,
Twined 'mid the curls of its sunny hair.
And all these blooms in my garden grow,
All in the hedge where the wild winds blow;
And a hundred others as fair as they,
That I could count in a summer-day,
Under the hedge where I sit alone,
Lulled by the bee with his trumpet tone,
And the blithe lark singing from the sky
My concert, and my lullaby.