When skies are blue and days are brightA kitchen-garden's my delight,Set round with rows of decent boxAnd blowsy girls of hollyhocks.
Before the lark his Lauds hath doneAnd ere the corncrake's southward gone;Before the thrush good-night hath saidAnd the young Summer's put to bed.
The currant-bushes' spicy smell,Homely and honest, likes me well.The while on strawberries I feast,And raspberries the sun hath kissed.
Beans all a-blowing by a rowOf hives that great with honey go,With mignonette and heaths to yieldThe plundering bee his honey-field.
Sweet herbs in plenty, blue borageAnd the delicious mint and sage,Rosemary, marjoram, and rue,And thyme to scent the winter through.
Here are small apples growing round,And apricots all golden-gowned,And plums that presently will flushAnd show their bush a Burning Bush.
Cherries in nets against the wall,Where Master Thrush his madrigalSings, and makes oath, a churl is heWho grudges cherries for a fee.
Lavender, sweet-briar, orris. HereShall Beauty makes her pomander,Her sweet balls for to lay in clothesThat wrap her as the leaves the rose.
Take roses red and lilies white,A kitchen-garden's my delight;Its gillyflowers and phlox and cloves,
And its tall cote of irised doves.
