Title: A Floral Fantasy in an Old English Garden
Author: Crane, Walter, 1845-1915
Language: English
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A FLORAL FANTASY IN AN OLD ENGLISH GARDEN

BY WALTER CRANE

NEW YORK & LONDON HARPER AND BROTHERS

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A FLORAL FANTASY IN AN OLD ENGLISH GARDEN

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  SET FORTH IN
  VERSES & COLOURED
  DESIGNS
  BY
  WALTER CRANE

  LONDON: AT THE
  HOUSE OF HARPER
  AND BROTHERS:
  1899

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THE OLD ENGLISH GARDEN

A FLORAL PHANTASY



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  In an old world garden dreaming,
  Where the flowers had human names,
  Methought, in fantastic seeming,
  They disported as squires and dames.

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  Of old in Rosamond's Bower,
  With it's peacock hedges of yew,
  One could never find the flower
  Unless one was given the clue;
  So take the key of the wicket,
  Who would follow my fancy free,
  By formal knot and clipt thicket,
  And smooth greensward so fair to see

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  And while Time his scythe is whetting,
  Ere the dew from the grass has gone,

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  The Four Seasons' flight forgetting,
  As they dance round the dial stone;

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  With a leaf from an old English book,
  A Jonquil will serve for a pen.

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  Let us note from the green arbour's nook,
  Flowers masking like women and men.

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  FIRST in VENUS'S LOOKING GLASS,
  You may see where LOVE LIES BLEEDING,

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  While PRETTY MAIDS all of them pass
  With careless hearts quite unheeding.

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  Next, a knight with his flaming targe
  See the DENT-DE-LION so bold
  With his feathery crest at large,
  On a field of the cloth of gold.

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  Simple honesty shows in vain
  A fashion few seek to robe in,
  While the poor SHEPHERD'S-PURSE is ta'en
  By rascally RAGGED-ROBIN.

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  COLTSFOOT
  and
  LARKSPUR

  SPEEDWELL

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  In the race of the flowers that's run due,

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  As the HARTSTONGUE pants at the well

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  And the HOUNDSTONGUE laps the SUNDEW.

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  Here's VENUS'-COMBE for MAIDENHAIR:
  While KING-CUPS drink BELLA-DONNA,

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  Glad in purple and gold so fair,
  Though the DEADLY NIGHTSHADE'S upon her.

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  Behold LONDON PRIDE robed & crowned,
  Ushered in by the GOLDEN ROD,
  While a floral crowd press around,
  Just to win from her crest a nod.

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  The FOXGLOVES are already on.
  Not only in pairs but dozens;
  They've come out to see all the fun,
  With sisters and aunts and cousins.

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  The STITCHWORK looked up with a sigh
  At BATCHELOR'S BUTTONS unsewn:

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  Single Daisies were not in her eye,
  For the grass was just newly mown.

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  The HORSE-TAIL, 'scaped from WOLFE'S CLAW,
  Rides off with a LADIES' LAGES.

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  The FRIAR'S-COWL hides a doctor of law,
  And the BISHOP'S-WEED covers his grace's

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  The SNAPDRAGON opened his jaw,
  But, at sight of Scotch THISTLE, turned pale:

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  He'd too many points of the law
  For a dragon without a scale.

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  Little JENNY-CREEPER lay low,
  Till happy thoughts made her gladder;
  How to rise in the world she'd know,
  So she climbed up JACOB'S LADDER

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  SWEET WILLIAM with MARYGOLD
  Seek HEARTSEASE in the close box-border.
  Where, starched in their ruff's stiff fold,
  DUTCH DAHLIAS prim, keep order.

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  NARCISSUS bends over the brook,
  Intent upon DAFFA-DOWN-DILLY:

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  While EYEBRIGHT observes from her nook,
  And wonders he could be so silly.

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  A LANCE FOR A LAD 'gainst KING'S SPEAR.
  When the BUGLE sounds for the play

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  A LADIES MANTLE flaunting there
  Is the banner that leads the fray.

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  KNIGHT'S SPUR to the LADIES BOWER
  To seek for the LADIES SLIPPER.

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  'Twas lost in the wood in a summer shower
  When the CLOWN'S WORT tried to trip her.

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  TOAD-FLAX is spun for BUTTER-AND-EGGS

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  On a LADIES' CUSHION sits THRIFT
  She never wastes, or steals, or begs,
  But she can't give poor RAGWORT a lift.

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  QUEEN OF THE MEADS is MEADOWSWEET,
  In the realm of grasses wide:

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  But not in all her court you meet
  The turbaned TURK'S HEAD in his pride.

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  Fair BETHLEHEM' STAR shineth bright,
  In a lowly place, as of old,

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  And through the green gloom glows the light
  Of ST. JOHN'S-WORT--a nimbus of gold.

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  But the hours of the sun swift glide,
  And the flowers with them are speeding.

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  Though LOVE-IN-A-MIST may hide.
  When Time's in the garden weeding.

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  There's TRAVELLER'S JOY
  To entwine,
  At our journey's end for greeting,

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  We can talk over SOPS-IN-WINE,
  And drink to our next merry meeting.

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  PRINTED
  BY
  EDMUND
  EVANS

  BOUND
  BY
  LEIGHTON
  SON &
  HODGE

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[Illustration: A FLORAL FANTASY]





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