THE CHARM OF GARDENS 



this poem, he names no flowers, yet his poems are 

 full of them : 



" That I, poor I, 



May think, thereby, 

 I live and die 



'Mongst Roses." 



Every man who is a gardener at heart, whether he be 

 in love with the flowers of the open fields, the garden 

 of the highways and the woods, or with his protected 

 patch of ground, will care to know this song of Herri ck's 

 if he has not already found it for himself : 



A THANKSGIVING TO GOD FOR HIS HOUSE 



Lord, thou hast given me a cell, 



Wherein to dwell ; 

 A little house, whose humble roof 



Is waterproof ; 

 Under the spars of which I lie 



Both soft and dry ; 

 Where thou, my chamber for to ward, 



Hast set a guard 

 Of harmless thoughts, to watch and keep 



Me, while I sleep. 

 Low is my porch, as is my fate ; 



Both void of state ; 

 And yet the threshold of my door 



Is worn by th' poor, 

 Who thither come, and freely get 



Good words or meat. 

 Like as my parlour, so my hall 



And kitchen's small ; 

 A little buttery, and therein 



A little bin, 

 Which keeps my little loaf of bread 



Unchipt, unflead ; 

 Some brittle sticks of Thorn or Briar 



Make rne a fire 



68 



