Dorothy Una Ratcliffe

My Herbary

I know a little garden very old,
    High-walled, with wandering paths of greenest box;
Beyond the doorway lies the rolling wold,
    The open moorland, and the Brimham Rocks.

Here find a home all nigh-forgotten herbs;
    The sage and rosemary nod side by side;
A giant lavender no pruning curbs,
    With us each year the honesties abide.

Under a hawthorn, ruby-gemmed in May,
    A bank of marjorams lie at their ease;
Here, lad's-love sigh their fragrant hearts away,
    Whilst rippling lieds of water never cease.

Beside the cherry-tree the balsams flower,
    The rue and mint bloom out a life-time meek;
A pleasant place it is at sunrise hour,
    When sportful finches wing in hide-and-seek.

And where the aged, moss-grown sundial lies,
    The peacock pert unfolds his wheel-rim tail,
Showing a hundred jewelled Argus eyes:
    With harsh, shrill cry he bids the day "All hail."

More is he fitted for the fountained sward
    Than for my herbary of butterflies;
No! I proclaim the lovelier throstle, Lord,
    The only one my simples recognise.

PATELEY BRIDGE, NIDDERDALE.