The Ramble

The plants that careless grow shall bloom and bud,
When wilted stands man’s nicely tended flower;
E’en on the unsheltered waste, or pool’s dark mud,
Spring bells and lilies fit for lady’s bower.

Come with me, I will show you where they grow;
The tangled vines and boughs come push aside;
O’er yonder hilltop’s craggy side we go,
Then by the path beyond we downward slide.

See, beyond pond where few but travelers pass,
Each lily opens wide its curious cup.
And here where now we track the unmown grass,
The wild-heath bell, surprised is looking up
To view the strangers that thus far have sought
The flowers that in fair Nature’s robe are wrought.