THE GARDEN 211 



I found the orchis, fly and bee, 



And the cistus of the mountain ; 

 The money-wort, and the green hart's-tongue, 



Beside an old wood fountain. 



I found, within another wood, 



The rare pyrola blowing ; 

 For wherever there was a curious flower, 



I was sure to find it growing. 



I set them in my garden beds, 

 Those beds I loved so dearly, 



Where I laboured after set of sun, 

 And in summer mornings early. 



O ! my pleasant garden-plot ! 



A shrubbery was beside it, 

 And an old and mossy apple-tree, 



With a woodbine wreathed to hide it. 



There was a bower in my garden-plot, 



A spirea grew before it ; 

 Behind it was a laburnum-tree, 



And a wild hop clambered o'er it. 



Ofttimes I sat within my bower, 



Like a king in all his glory ; 

 Ofttimes I read, and read for hours, 



Some pleasant, wondrous story. 



