The Flowers

All the names I know from nurse: Gardener's garters, Shepherd's purse; Bachelor's buttons, Lady's smock, And the Lady Hollyhock.

Fairy places, fairy things, Fairy woods where the wild bee wings, Tiny trees for tiny dames-- These must all be fairy names!

Tiny woods below whose boughs Shady fairies weave a house; Tiny tree tops, rose or thyme, Where the braver fairies climb!

Fair are grown-up people's trees, But the fairest woods are these; Where, if I were not so tall, I should live for good and all.

SUMMER SUN.

Great is the sun, and wide he goes Through empty heaven without repose; And in the blue and glowing days More thick than rain he showers his rays.

Though closer still the blinds we pull To keep the shady parlour cool, Yet he will find a chink or two To slip his golden fingers through.

The dusty attic spider-clad He, through the keyhole, maketh glad; And through the broken edge of tiles, Into the laddered hayloft smiles.

Meantime his golden face around He bares to all the garden ground, And sheds a warm and glittering look Among the ivy's inmost nook.

Above the hills, along the blue, Round the bright air with footing true, To please the child, to paint the rose, The gardener of the World, he goes.