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The Language of the Garden

TEXTS
Gold and Money
What's in there?
Gold and Money.
Where's my share?
The mousie's run away with it.
Where's the mousie?
In her housie
Where's her housie?
In the wood.
Where's the wood?
The fire burnt it. 
Where's the fire?
The water quenched it. 
Where's the water?
The brown bull drank it.
Where's the brown bull?
Behind Burnie's hill. 
Where's Burnie's hill?
All dressed in snow. 
Where's the snow?
The sun melted it. 
Where's the sun?
High, high up in the air. 
traditional (English) 


I Have a Garden Plot
I have a garden plot,
Wherein there wants nor hearbs, nor roots, nor flowers:
Flowers to smell, roots to eate, hearbs for the pot,
And dainty shelters when the welkin lowers:
Sweet-smelling beds of lillies, and of roses,
Which rosemary banks and lavender incloses. 

There growes the gillifloure, the mynt, the dayzie
Both red and white, the blue-veynd violet;
The purple hyacinth, the spyke to please thee,
The scarlet dyde carnation bleeding yet:
The sage, the savery, and sweet margerum,
Isop, tyme, and eye-bright, good for the blinde and the dumbe. 

The pinke, the primrose, cowslip and daffadilly,
The hare-bell blue, the crimson cullumbine,
Sage, lettis, parsley, and the milk-white lilly,
The rose and speckled flowre cald sops-in-wine,
Fine pretie king-cups, and the yellow bootes,
That growes by rivers and by shallow brookes. 
Richard Barnfield (1574–1624) 


Rustic Adornments for Homes of Taste
So many are the social qualities of flowers that it would be a difficult task to enumerate them. We always feel welcome when, on entering a room, we find a display of flowers on the table. 

When there are flowers about, the hostess appears glad, the children pleased, the very dog and cat grateful for our arrival, the whole scene and all the personages seem more hearty and beautiful, because of the bewitching roses, and orchids, and lilies, and mignonette! 
James Shirley Hibberd (1825–1890) 


Of Composts 
Of composts shall the Muse descend to sing,
Nor soil her heavenly plumes? The sacred Muse
Naught sordid deems, but what is base; naught fair
Unless true Virtue stamp it with her seal.
Then, planter, wouldst thou double thy estate
Never, ah, never, be asham'd to tread
Thy dung-heaps. 
James Grainger (1721–1770) 


To a Friend, Planting
Proceed, my Friend, pursue thy healthful toil,
Dispose thy ground, and meliorate thy soil;
Range thy young plants in walks, or clumps, or bow'rs,
Diffuse o'er sunny banks thy fragrant flow'rs;
And, while the new creation round thee springs,
Enjoy uncheck'd the guiltless bliss it brings:
But hope no more. 
Though Fancy forward stray
These scenes of distant pleasure to survey,
To expatiate fondly o'er the future grove,
The happy haunt of Friendship and of Love;
Know, each fair image form'd within thy mind,
Far wide of truth thy sickening sight shall find. 
John Scott (1730–1783) 


The Economy of Vegetation
Sylphs! on each oak-bed wound the wormy galls,
With pygmy spears, or crush the venom'd balls;
Fright the green locust from his foamy bed,
Unweave the caterpillar's gluey thread;
Chase the fierce earwig, scare the bloated toad,
Arrest the snail upon his slimy road. 
Erasmus Darwin (1731–1802) 


Elizabeth and Her German Garden
The garden is the place I go for refuge and for shelter, not the house. In the house are duties and annoyances, furniture and meals; but out there blessings crowd round me at every step; it is there that I am sorry for the unkindness in me . . . there that I feel protected and at home, and every flower and weed is a friend and every tree a lover. 
Elizabeth Von Arnim (1866–1941) 


The Man of Double Deed
There was a man of double deed
sowed his garden full of seed.
When the seed began to grow,
'Twas like a garden full of snow;
When the snow began to melt,
'Twas like a ship without a belt;
When the ship began to sail,
'Twas like a bird without a tail;
When the bird began to fly,
'Twas like an eagle in the sky;
When the sky began to roar,
'Twas like a lion at the door;
When the door began to crack,
'Twas like a stick across my back;
When my back began to smart,
'Twas like a penknife in my heart;
When my heart began to bleed,
'Twas death and death and death indeed. 
traditional (English) 


The Poplar Field
The poplars are fell'd, farewell to the shade
And the whispering sound of the cool colonnade,
The winds play no longer, and sing in the leaves,
Nor Ouse on his bosom their image receives. 

Twelve years have elaps'd since I first took a view
Of my favourite field and the bank where they grew,
And now in the grass behold they are laid,
And the tree is my seat that once lent me shade. 

The blackbird has fled to another retreat
Where the hazels afford him a screen from the heat,
And the scene where his melody charm'd me before,
Resounds with his sweet-flowing ditty no more. 
William Cowper (1731–1800) 


The Garden Seat
Its former green is blue and thin,
And its once firm legs sink in and in;
Soon it will break down unaware,
Soon it will break down unaware. 

At night when reddest flowers are black
Those who once sat thereon come back;
Quite a row of them sitting there,
Quite a row of them sitting there. 

With them the seat does not break down,
Nor winter freeze them, nor floods drown,
For they are as light as upper air,
They are as light as upper air. 
Thomas Hardy (1840–1928) 


The Garden
Still may you with your frozen fingers cut
Treasures of Winter, if you planted well;
The Winter-sweet against a sheltering wall,
Waxen, Chinese and drooping bell;
Strange in its colour, almond in its smell;
And the Witch-hazel, Hamamelis mollis,
That comes before its leaf on naked bough,
Torn ribbons frayed, of yellow and maroon,
And sharp of scent in frosty English air. . .
Gardener, if you listen, listen well:
Plant for winter pleasure, when the months
Dishearten; plant to find a fragile note
Touched from the brittle violin of frost. 
Vita Sackville-West (1892–1962) 


At the Sign of the Lyre
Here in this sequester'd close
Bloom the hyacinth and rose,
Here beside the modest stock
Flaunts the flaring hollyhock;
Here, without a pang, one sees
Ranks, conditions and degrees. 

All the seasons run their race
In this quiet resting place;
Peach and apricot and fig
Here will ripen and grow big;
Here is store and overplus,–
More had not Alcinous. 
Henry Austin Dobson (1840–1921) 


The Key of the Kingdom
This is the key of the kingdom:
In that kingdom is a city,
In that city is a town,
In that town there is a street,
In that street there winds a lane,
In that lane there is a yard,
In that yard there is a house
In that house there waits a room,
In that room there is a bed,
On that bed there is a basket,
A basket of flowers. 

Flowers in the basket,
Basket on the bed,
Bed in the chamber,
Chamber in the house,
House in the weedy yard,
Yard in the windy lane,
Lane in the broad street,
Street in the high town,
Town in the city,
City in the kingdom:
This is the key of the kingdom. 
traditional (English)