Poetry Archives

Such special sweetness was about
  That day God sent you here,
I knew the lavender was out,
  And it was mid of year.

Their common way the great winds blew,
  The ships sailed out to sea;
Yet ere that day was spent I knew
  Mine own had come to me.

As after song some snatch of tune
  Lurks still in grass or bough,
So, somewhat of the end o’ June
  Lurks in each weather now.

The young year sets the buds astir,
  The old year strips the trees;
But ever in my lavender
  I hear the brawling bees.