Katharine Hinkson

Katharine Hinkson (1851-1931)

 

The Choice

 

When skies are blue and days are bright

A kitchen-garden's my delight,

Set round with rows of decent box

And blowsy girls of hollyhocks.

Before the lark his Lauds hath done

And ere the corncrake's southward gone;

Before the thrush good-night hath said

And 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 row

Of hives that great with honey go,

With mignonette and heaths to yield

The plundering bee his honey-field.

 

Sweet herbs in plenty, blue borage

And 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 flush

And show their bush a Burning Bush.

 

Cherries in nets against the wall,

Where Master Thrush his madrigal

Sings, and makes oath, a churl is he

Who grudges cherries for a fee.

 

Lavender, sweet-briar, orris.

HereShall Beauty makes her pomander,

Her sweet balls for to lay in clothes

That 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.


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