No 7 the Sprig of Thyme
C.J.S.
[ [XML] [Note]
1
In my garden grew plenty of Thyme,
It would flourish by night and by day;
O’er the wall came a lad, he took all that I had,
And stole my thyme away.
2
My garden with heartsease was bright,
The pansy so pied and so gay;
One slipped through the gate, and alas! cruel fate,
My heartsease took away.
3
My garden grew self-heal and balm,
And speedwell that’s blue for an hour,
Then blossoms again, O grievous my pain!
I’m plundered of each flower.
4
There grows in my garden the rue,
And Love-lies-a-bleeding droops there,
The hyssop and myrrh, the teazle and burr,
In place of blossoms fair.
5
The willow with branches that weep,
The thorn and the cypress tree,
O why were the seeds of such dolorous weeds,
Thus scattered there by thee?