In the race of the flowers that's run due, As the HARTSTONGUE pants at the well And the HOUNDSTONGUE laps the SUNDEW. Here's VENUS’ - COMBE for MAIDENHAIR:
While KING-CUPS drink BELLA-DONNA, Glad in purple and gold so fair, Though the DEADLY NIGHTSHADE'S upon her. 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. 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. The STITCHWORK looked up with a sigh
At BATCHELOR'S BUTTONS unsewn: Single Daisies were not in her eye, For the grass was just newly mown. The HORSE-TAIL,‘ scaped from WOLFE'S CLAW,
Rides off with a LADIES’ LAGES. The FRIAR'S-COWL hides a doctor of law, And the BISHOP'S-WEED covers his grace's The SNAPDRAGON opened his jaw,
But, at sight of Scotch THISTLE, turned pale: He'd too many points of the law For a dragon without a scale. 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 SWEET WILLIAM with MARYGOLD
Seek HEARTSEASE in the close box-border. Where, starched in their ruff's stiff fold, DUTCH DAHLIAS prim, keep order. NARCISSUS bends over the brook,
Intent upon DAFFA-DOWN-DILLY: While EYEBRIGHT observes from her nook, And wonders he could be so silly. A LANCE FOR A LAD‘ gainst KING'S SPEAR.
When the BUGLE sounds for the play A LADIES MANTLE flaunting there Is the banner that leads the fray. KNIGHT'S SPUR to the LADIES BOWER
To seek for the LADIES SLIPPER. ‘ Twas lost in the wood in a summer shower When the CLOWN'S WORT tried to trip her. TOAD-FLAX is spun for BUTTER-AND-EGGS
On a LADIES’ CUSHION sits THRIFT She never wastes, or steals, or begs, But she can n't give poor RAGWORT a lift. QUEEN OF THE MEADS is MEADOWSWEET,
In the realm of grasses wide: But not in all her court you meet The turbaned TURK'S HEAD in his pride. Fair BETHLEHEM’ STAR shineth bright,
In a lowly place, as of old, And through the green gloom glows the light Of ST. JOHN'S-WORT — a nimbus of gold. But the hours of the sun swift glide,
And the flowers with them are speeding. Though LOVE-IN-A-MIST may hide. When Time's in the garden weeding. There's TRAVELLER'S JOY
To entwine, At our journey's end for greeting, We can talk over SOPS-IN-WINE, And drink to our next merry meeting.
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