by Arlo Bates (1850 - 1918)

The foxglove
Language: English 
In grandmamma's garden in shining rows, 
The box smells sweet as it trimly grows ; 
The sun-dial quaint the hours tells, 
'Mid foxgloves tall with spotted bells ; 
And all is dear, and all is fair, 
As childhood's self had dwelling there. 

In grandmamma's garden a child I played 
With naught save bees to make afraid ; 
I counted the spots on the foxglove's cheek, 
And knew it could tell, if it would but speak, 
How cunning fairies painted them 
And made each like a shining gem. 

In grandmamma's garden the foxgloves gay 
With every wind would nod and sway ; 
Full well I knew that they were wise, 
And watched with childhood's eager eyes 
To see them whisper each to each, 
And catch the secrets of their speech. 

In grandmamma's garden still I walk, 
And still the foxgloves seem to talk. 
Their speech not yet my manhood learns, 
But when I see them youth returns ; 
I wonder at them still in vain, 
But with them am a child again. 


Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive)

Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]

Text added to the website: 2009-06-17 00:00:00
Last modified: 2014-06-16 10:03:15
Line count: 24
Word count: 171