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UNDERWOODS
BOOK I
IN ENGLISH
VII
TO A GARDENER

Оглавление

Friend, in my mountain-side demesne,

My plain-beholding, rosy, green

And linnet-haunted garden-ground,

Let still the esculents abound.

Let first the onion flourish there,

Rose among roots, the maiden-fair,

Wine-scented and poetic soul

Of the capacious salad-bowl.

Let thyme the mountaineer (to dress

The tinier birds) and wading cress,

The lover of the shallow brook,

From all my plots and borders look.

Nor crisp and ruddy radish, nor

Pease-cods for the child’s pinafore

Be lacking; nor of salad clan

The last and least that ever ran

About great nature’s garden-beds.

Nor thence be missed the speary heads

Of artichoke; nor thence the bean

That gathered innocent and green

Outsavours the belauded pea.


These tend, I prithee; and for me,

Thy most long-suffering master, bring

In April, when the linnets sing

And the days lengthen more and more,

At sundown to the garden door.

And I, being provided thus,

Shall, with superb asparagus,

A book, a taper, and a cup

Of country wine, divinely sup.


La Solitude, Hyères.

The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson – Swanston Edition. Volume 14

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