My name is told to all around,
And I'm a rustic born,
My empire is the swelling ground,
My kingdom is the corn;
My palace is the budding wood
With pink and purple strown,
My princely staff a hazel rod,
And an ivy-wreath my crown;
Sweet violets for coronets
And a hawthorn stud my throne.
For me the heather and the broom
Their balmy souls upyield,
And the dainty daises breathe and bloom
Like snow about the field;
A hundred sheaves and poses
Gleam in the wild-wood bower,
With lillies and with roses,
And many a golden shower;
Sweet ruddy gems, and diadems
Of the pale-blue cuckoo flower.
And so the silver-scented spray
Of the cherry-blossom swings,
And the rosy-tinted, smelling may
Brushed with the linnet's wings;
The cowslp and the buttercup
Gold lettered on the lea,
And ladies-fingers, looking up,
Send their incense unto me;
With livery of why ivory
And the blush anemone.
O the green and yellow primrose
That blossoms on the hill,
With hawthorn snows, and buds that close
Round the lovely daffodil!
I'd give a world of kingdom
And half a league of grain
To lay me down where the spring is sown
With the daffodils again,
With the dear sweet hope of childhood
Fast-throbbing through my brain.
What prince, what ruler of the square,
What lordling of the town,
What pomp, what glory can compare
With the gaudy poppy-crown?
Give purple to the violet,
And honey to the bees,
A bloom upon the lily set,
Add waters to the seas;
The poppy's store is the red-leaved ore
Of a hundred argosies.
Mine is the greatest guerdon,
To me all rights belong,
The round earth's richest burden
The high heaven's sweetest song;
The day may droop and wither,
Earth's joy-strings broken be,
But the purple of the heather
Is woven into me;
And cinnamon scent of the rose is blent
With my nature-mystery.
Title photography by Kara-Jane Senior
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