[_Written after spending the Christmas Holidays at
Grandmamma's._]
You may talk about your groves,
Where you wander with your loves.
You may talk about your moonlit waves that fall and flow.
Something fairer far than these
I can show you, if you please.
'Tis the charming little cupboard where the jam-pots grow.
_Chorus._ Where the jam-pots grow!
Where the jam-pots grow!
Where the jelly jolly, jelly jolly jam-pots grow.
The fairest spot to me,
On the land or on the sea,
Is the charming little cupboard where the jam-pots grow.
There the golden peaches shine
In their syrup clear and fine,
And the raspberries are blushing with a dusky glow.
And the cherry and the plum
Seem to beckon you to come
To the charming little cupboard where the jam-pots grow.
_Chorus._ Where the jam-pots grow!
Where the jam-pots grow!
Where the jelly jolly, jelly jolly jam-pots grow.
The fairest spot to me,
On the land or on the sea,
Is the charming little cupboard where the jam-pots grow.
There the sprightly pickles stand,
With the catsup close at hand,
And the marmalades and jellies in a goodly row.
While the quinces' ruddy fire
Would an anchorite inspire
To seek the little cupboard where the jam-pots grow.
_Chorus._ Where the jam-pots grow!
Where the jam-pots grow!
Where the jelly jolly, jelly jolly jam-pots grow.
The fairest spot to me,
On the land or on the sea,
Is the charming little cupboard where the jam-pots grow.
Never tell me of your bowers
That are full of bugs and flowers!
Never tell me of your meadows where the breezes blow!
But sing me, if you will,
Of the house beneath the hill,
And the darling little cupboard where the jam-pots grow.
_Chorus._ Where the jam-pots grow!
Where the jam-pots grow!
Where the jelly jolly, jelly jolly jam-pots grow.
The fairest spot to me,
On the land or on the sea,
Is the charming little cupboard where the jam-pots grow.