In a Devon Garden
The spring was late in coming,
The flowers were very shy,
When in my Devon garden fair
The sweet West Wind swept by.
She dropped some tears in passing.
What magic in them lay
Than on the wall japonica
Leapt forth in crimson spray.
The violets just unfolding
Were startled into bloom;
The witch in the genista-bush
Waved high her golden broom;
The pixies through the soft red earth
Thrust up their small green spears.
Ah! would I had the magic touch
Of west wind and her tears!
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