Grandmother's garden was brave to see,
Gorgeous with old-time plants and blooms,
All too common and cheap to be
Grown in modern parterres and rooms;
Old traditional herbs and flowers,
Some for pleasure and some for need,
Gifted, haply, with wondrous powers, -
Root, or petal, or bark, or seed.
All old fashions of leaf and root
Grew there, cherished for show or use;
Currant bushes with clustered fruit,
Red as garnets and full of juice;
Tiger-lilies with beaded stalks,
Balm and basil and bitter rue,
Gay nasturtiums and four o'clocks -
Grandmother's garden was fair to view.
Pinkshow rich in their stately prime!
Filled the air with a rare delight;
Lavender blended with sage and thyme;
Lilacs, purple and mingled white,
Met and mingled and bloomed as one
Over the path, they grew so tall;
And tulip torches in wind and sun,
Flared and flamed by the southern wall.
Periwinkles with trailing vines,
Lordly lilies with creamy tints,
Bachelor's buttons and columbines,
Proud sweet-williams, and odorous mint;
Heavy peonies burning red,
Wonders of lush redundant bloom,
Longed for a wider space to spread, And flushed the redder for lack of room.
Brilliant asters their prim heads tossed;
Dark blue monkshood and hollyhocks
Smiling fearless at autumn's frost,
Waved and nodded along the walks;
Love-lies-bleeding forever drooped;
Disks of sunflowers, bright and broad,
Watched like sentries; and fennel stooped
Over immortal Aaron's-rod.
Cumfrey, dropping its waxen flowers,
Purple gooseberries, over-ripe
Lady-grass that I searched for hours,
Vainly trying to match a stripe, —
Pansies, bordering all the beds,
Ladies' delights for the children's sake,
Poppies, nodding their sleepy heads,
And yellow marigolds wide awake.
Morning-glories, whose trumpets rung
Resonant with the rifling bees,
Daffodils, born when spring was young;
Vain narcissus, and gay sweet-peas
Clinging close, but with bright wings spread
Wide, like butterflies just alight;
Gauze-flowers fragile to sunrise wed,
And bashful primrose that bloomed at night.
Rich syringas, all honey-sweet,
Trim carnations of tenderest pink,
Bluebells, spite of the noonday heat
Holding dew for the birds to drink;
Marjoram, hyssops, and caraway,
Damask roses and mignonette;
Ah! sometimes at this distant day
I can fancy I smell them yet.
I have a garden of prouder claims,
Full of novelties bright and rare,
Modern flowers with stately names
Flaunt their wonderful beauty there;
Yet in threading its brilliant maze,
Oft my heart, with a homesick thrill
Whispers, dreaming of early days,
"Grandmother's garden was fairer still!"
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