Eleanor Farjeon (1881 – 1965)
English author of children's stories and plays, poetry, biography, history and satire.
Dropt tears have hastened your decay
And brought you one step nigher death;
And you have heard, unthrilled, unmoved,
The music of Love's golden breath
And seen the light in eyes that loved.
You think you hold the core and kernel
Of all the world beneath your crust,
Old dial? But when you lie in dust,
This vine will bloom, strong, green, and proved.
Love is eternal.
Upon your shattered ruins where
This vine will flourish still, as rare,
As fresh, as fragrant as of old.
Love will not crumble.
Of troubles know I none,
Of pleasures know I many —
I rove beneath the sun
Without a single penny.
Water, Loo! water, Loo! fetch me some water!
There isn't a drop for a mile and a quarter!
The ground is so hard and the ground is so dry
I'm frightened my little red rose-bush will die.
Out upon you, Jerry! Jerry, you're a pity!
Jerry, turn about and plant a garden in the City!
From the blood of Medusa
Pegasus sprang.
His hoof of heaven
Like melody rang.