The Idle Flowers

I have sown upon the fields Eyebright and Pimpernel, And Pansy and Poppy-seed Ripen’d and scatter’d well,

And silver Lady-smock The meads with light to fill, Cowslip and Buttercup, Daisy and Daffodil;

King-cup and Fleur-de-lys Upon the marsh to meet With Comfrey, Watermint, Loose-strife and Meadowsweet;

And all along the stream My care hath not forgot Crowfoot’s white galaxy And love’s Forget-me-not:

And where high grasses wave Shall great Moon-daisies blink, With Rattle and Sorrel sharp And Robin’s ragged pink.

Thick on the woodland floor Gay company shall be, Primrose and Hyacinth And frail Anemone,

Perennial Strawberry-bloom, Woodsorrel’s pencilled veil, Dishevel’d Willow-weed And Orchis purple and pale,

Bugle, that blushes blue, And Woodruff’s snowy gem, Proud Foxglove’s finger-bells And Spurge with milky stem.

High on the downs so bare, Where thou dost love to climb, Pink Thrift and Milkwort are, Lotus and scented Thyme;

And in the shady lanes Bold Arum’s hood of green, Herb Robert, Violet, Starwort and Celandine;

And by the dusty road Bedstraw and Mullein tall, With red Valerian And Toadflax on the wall,

Yarrow and Chicory, That hath for hue no like, Silene and Mallow mild And Agrimony’s spike,

Blue-eyed Veronicas And grey-faced Scabious And downy Silverweed And striped Convolvulus:

Harebell shall haunt the banks, And thro’ the hedgerow peer Withwind and Snapdragon And Nightshade’s flower of fear.

And where men never sow, Have I my Thistles set, Ragwort and stiff Wormwood And straggling Mignonette,

Bugloss and Burdock rank And prickly Teasel high, With Umbels yellow and white, That come to kexes dry.

Pale Chlora shalt thou find, Sun-loving Centaury, Cranesbill and Sinjunwort, Cinquefoil and Betony:

Shock-headed Dandelion, That drank the fire of the sun Hawkweed and Marigold, Cornflower and Campion.

Let Oak and Ash grow strong, Let Beech her branches spread; Let Grass and Barley throng And waving Wheat for bread;

Be share and sickle bright To labour at all hours; For thee and thy delight I have made the idle flowers.

But now ’tis Winter, child, And bitter northwinds blow, The ways are wet and wild, The land is laid in snow.

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