The Flowers

Buy my English posies!
Kent and Surrey may,
Violets of the Undercliff
Wet with Channel spray;
Cowslips from a Devon combe,
Midland furze afire,
Buy my English posies
And I'll sell your heart's desire!

Buy my English posies!
You that scorn the May,
Won't you greet a friend from home
Half the world away?
Green against the draggled drift,
Faint and frail but first,
Buy my Northern blood-root
And I'll know where you were nursed:
Robin down the logging-road whistles, "Come to me!"
Spring has found the maple-grove, the sap is running free.
All the winds of Canada call the ploughing-rain.
Take the flower and turn the hour, and kiss your love again!

Buy my English posies!
Here's to match your need,
Buy a tuft of royal heath,
Buy a bunch of weed
White as sand of Muizenberg
Spun before the gale,
Buy my heath and lilies
And I'll tell you whence you hail!
Under hot Constantia broad the vineyards lie,
Throned and thorned the aching berg props the speckless sky,
Slow below the Wynberg firs trails the tilted wain,
Take the flower and turn the hour, and kiss your love again!

Buy my English posies!
You that will not turn,
Buy my hot-wood clematis,
Buy a frond o' fern
Gathered where the Erskine leaps
Down the road to Lorne,
Buy my Christmas creeper
And I'll say where you were born!
West away from Melbourne dust holidays begin,
They that mock at Paradise woo at Cora Lynn,
Through the great South Otway gums sings the great South Main,
Take the flower and turn the hour, and kiss your love again!

Buy my English posies!
Here's your choice unsold!
Buy a blood-red myrtle-bloom,
Buy the kowhai's gold
Flung for gift on Taupo's face,
Sign that spring is come,
Buy my clinging myrtle
And I'll give you back your home!
Broom behind the windy town, pollen of the pine,
Bell-bird in the leafy deep where the ratas twine,
Fern above the saddle-bow, flax upon the plain,
Take the flower and turn the hour, and kiss your love again!

Buy my English posies!
Ye that have your own
Buy them for a brother's sake
Overseas, alone!
Weed ye trample underfoot
Floods his heart abrim,
Bird ye never heeded,
Oh, she calls his dead to him!
Far and far our homes are set round the Seven Seas;
Woe for us if we forget, we who hold by these!
Unto each his mother-beach, bloom and bird and land,
Masters of the Seven Seas, oh, love and understand.

Rudyard

Rudyard Kipling was an English journalist, short-story writer, poet, and novelist. He was born in British India, which inspired much of his work. His notable works include the novels 'The Jungle Book,' 'Kim,' and the poem 'If—.' Kipling was one of the most popular writers in the United Kingdom in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. He received the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1907, making him the youngest recipient of the award.

Rudyard

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English

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O Come To The Meadows.

O come to the meadows! I'll show you where
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Sussex

God gave all men all earth to love,
But, since our hearts are small
Ordained for each one spot should prove
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So one shall Baltic pines content,
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Of Three Children Choosing - A Chaplet Of Verse

You and I and Burd so blithe--
    Burd so blithe, and you, and I--
The Mower he would whet his scythe
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And he woke soon, but we woke soon
    And drew the nursery blind,
All wondering at the waning moon
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Low in her cradle swung the moon
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In whispers, while our elders slept,
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After A Lecture On Wordsworth

Come, spread your wings, as I spread mine,
And leave the crowded hall
For where the eyes of twilight shine
O'er evening's western wall.

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Each with its leafy crown;
Hark! from their sides a thousand rills
Come singing sweetly down.

A thousand rills; they leap and shine,
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They swell a hundred brooks.

A hundred brooks, and still they run
With ripple, shade, and gleam,
Till, clustering all their braids in one,
They flow a single stream.

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A silvery sash unwound,
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Love's Reward.

It was a knight of the southern land
Rode forth upon the way
When the birds sang sweet on either hand
About the middle of the May.

But when he came to the lily-close,
Thereby so fair a maiden stood,
That neither the lily nor the rose
Seemed any longer fair nor good.

"All hail, thou rose and lily-bough!
What dost thou weeping here,
For the days of May are sweet enow,
And the nights of May are dear?"

"Well may I weep and make my moan,
Who am bond and captive here;
Well may I weep who lie alone,
Though May be waxen dear."

"And is there none shall ransom thee;
Mayst thou no borrow find?"
"Nay, what man may my borrow be,
When all my wealth is left behind?

"Perchance some ring is left with thee,
Some belt that d...

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