My chaplet, and for trial 

 Costmary that so likes the Cup, 



And next it Pennyroyal. 

 Then Burnet shall bear up with this. 



Whose leaf I greatly fancy; 

 Some Camomile doth not amiss 



With Savory and some Tansy. 

 Then here and there I'll put a sprig 



Of Rosemary into it. 

 Thus not too Little nor too Big, 



'Tis done if I can do it. 



Michael Drayton. 



" There is Balm for sympathy. Bay for glory. 

 Foxglove for sincerity, Basil for hatred." 



Sage, too, sovereign Sage, best pf all — excellent 

 for longevity — of which to-day's stock seems running 

 low, for — 



Why should man die ? so doth the sentence say. 

 When sage grows in his garden day by day? 



Amns Bronson Alcott. 



Closed on three sides by crumbling walls of brick. 

 All spotted by slow-creeping lichen stains. 

 And nearly hid by ivy, matted thick, 

 And dim with clinging mists of years of rains. 

 The Garden lies. 



******* 



Inside the walls, the tall ailanthus' shade 



Is tangled in the meshes of the grass,' 

 Or flecks the path, where mossy flags were laid 



For childish feet, long since grown old to pass ; 

 Between the stones the scarlet pimpernel 



Finds rdom to spread its thread-like roots and grow; 

 And all self-sown, the portulaca's bell 



Lights up the ground with tender rosy glow ; 



