The Lad's Love by the

Down in the dear West Country, there's a garden where I know

The Spring is rioting this hour, though I am far away —

Where all the glad flower-faces are old loves of long ago,

And each in its accustomed place is blossoming to-day.

The lilac drops her amethysts upon the mossy wall,

While in her boughs a cheerful thrush is calling to his mate.

Dear breath of mignonette and stocks! I love you, know you all.

And, oh, the fragrant spices from the lad's love by the gate!