Punch/Volume 147/Issue 3808/The Silent Charmer
[Speaking of flowers a contemporary recently remarked:—" These careless-looking creatures filling the air with delight, robbing tired brains of tiredness, are a delicate texture of coloured effort that has prevailed out of a thousand chances, aided in all that effort by man. Without man they would be but weeds—a profusion of Nature's quantity."]
My dearest Thomas, I would not Deny the fact that you are clever; You've taught Dame Nature what is what At horticultural endeavour (She has not got that useful thing, The shilling book of gardening).
She has her merits, but, of course, Her wild attempts won't stand comparing With such a floral tour de force As that geranium you are wearing; Yon chosen emblem of your skill Must surely make her wilder still.
But give me Nature; when we meet She does not prattle of her posies, Dull facts of what begonias eat, The dietetic fads of roses, And how she strove with spade and spud, Or nipped the green fly on the bud.
'Tis she that really soothes the brain, Spreading her weeds in bright profusion, And never troubling to explain How much they owe to her collusion, While, Thomas, your achievements seem To be your one and only theme.