Poetry Archives

“Mary, Mary, quite contrary,
  How does your garden grow?
With silver bells and cockle-shells
  And pretty maids all in a row!”
—Mother Goose.

Mary, Mistress Mary,
  How does your garden grow?
From your uplands airy,
Mary, Mistress Mary,
Float the chimes of faery
  When the breezes blow!
Mary, Mistress Mary,
  How does your garden grow?

With flower-maidens, singing
  Among the morning hills—
With silvern bells a-ringing,
With flower-maidens singing,
With vocal lilies, springing
  By chanting daffodils;
With flower-maidens, singing
  Among the morning hills!