Grey walls that lichen stains,
That take the sun and the rains,
Old, stately and wise;
Clipt yews, old lawns flag-bordered,
In ancient ways yet ordered;
South walks where the loud bee plies
Daylong till Summer flies;--
_Here grows Lavender, here breathes England_.
Gay cottage gardens, glad,
Comely, unkempt and mad,
Jumbled, jolly and quaint;
Nooks where some old man dozes;
Currants and beans and roses
Mingling without restraint;
A wicket that long lacks paint;--
_Here grows Lavender, here breathes England_.
Sprawling for elbow-room,
Spearing straight spikes of bloom,
Clean, wayward and tough;
Sweet and tall and slender,
True, enduring and tender,
Buoyant and bold and bluff,
Simplest, sanest of stuff;--
_Thus grows Lavender, thence breathes England_.
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Baker._ "WHAT'S WRONG WITH THE LITTLE CHAP?"
_Mother._ "I GIVE IT UP. I'VE GIVEN HIM A BUN--I DON'T KNOW WHAT MORE 'E
WANTS. I CAN'T GET 'IM TO REALISE THERE'S A WAR ON."]
* * * * *