Blue and Purple by Francis Neilson - HTML preview

THE GARDEN MADE FOR ME

MY love and I a garden made—

So early in the spring,

When larks begin to sing—

Frail violets a carpet laid,

Of tender blues, for my sweet maid,

When we were gardening.

I did not see the garden grow—

Fate turned me far astray,

Ere summer’s happy ray

The garden kissed, and all the glow

Of fragrant hours I did not know—

My summer’s days were grey.

I did not pick sweet blooms for her,

To make a crown to grace

Her head, and bonny face;

I wandered in a world so bare,

No flower of love perfumed the air,

No blossoms could I trace.

Some lovers sow, some lovers reap,

And others never see

The gardens that might be;

Still, though I might not reap, I keep,

In dreams of her, the mem’ry deep

Of gardens made for me.