Sonnets of Flowers and Trees - George Markham Tweddell 1823 - 1903

George Markham Tweddell

George Markham Tweddell  (GMT) 1823 - 1903 was born in Stokesley, North Yorkshire in 1823 and was variously a printer, publisher, author, editor, poet, Chartist, People's historian and much more. His wife, Elizabeth Tweddell (nee Cole) was better known as the poet Florence Cleveland whose book Rhymes and Sketches to Illustrate the Cleveland Dialect. One of her poems (Take Thy-self a Wife) has been set to music and is the title of an album by the Stockton on Tees folk duo - Megson. The full and interesting history of this 19thC couple can be found in more detail via this hub to their work http://georgemarkhamtweddell.blogspot.co.uk/

George & Elizabeth Tweddell

In 2005 I began work documenting the Creative Writing scene in Cleveland / Tees Valley which I had been involved with as a tutor and development worker and decided to research the area's older literary history. This led me to George Markham Tweddell's book The Bards and Authors of Cleveland and South Durham - 1872 (a compendium of local authors going back to 500 AD). The book was long out of print and only available at the time in the local reference libraries or antiquarian shops. I endeavoured to put information from it on our website. As a result, one of GMT's descendant's Paul Tweddell, got in contact and we began a 5 year project to get GMT's work out into the public domain.

One day, Paul showed me some manuscript books by GMT which clearly showed that GMT was a more diverse and prolific poet than I had realised. You can find out more about his fuller collection of poetry on the site mentioned above.

Manuscript book

Paul Tweddell

One of the books in particular impressed me greatly - Sonnets of Flowers and Trees. GMT had attempted, before his death, to bring together all of his sonnets on those two themes. Some were never published in his life-time but others had been published in local and national newspapers or in masonic magazines in the United States and Europe.

Emblems and Symbols
GMT was well acquainted with the sonnet and had walked widely on the Cleveland hills where many of the wild flowers can be seen. Reading the poems I began to suspect that they worked on other levels through emblems and symbols. Paul Tweddell sent me a poem by George Wither - Marigold - that had influenced GMT (he had a similar poem The Marsh Marigold.0 I began to think the Whither poem was in some way symbolic. Then I noticed at the foot of the poem it mentioned that Whither was one of the best known Emblem writers, influenced by The Emblematum Libellus of Alciati (1522). I had also noticed a number of masonic symbols in GMT's work and mention of emblems in these poems. His wider work, especially his 100 Masonic Poems confirm the symbolic / emblematic aspects to GMT's poetry. A fuller discussion of the nature of GMT's poetry can be found here http://georgemarkhamtweddell.blogspot.co.uk/2011/04/poets-view-of-george-markham-tweddell.html , along with links to his Collected poetical works, available as a free pdf file.

Here's an extract from the essay on his poems about Emblems and symbols linked above.

"After reading GMT’s poem for Elliot ‘The Bramble (Rubus Vulgaris)’  I wondered why many of these radical poets also had a strong interest in flowers and plants. Was it purely botanical or was there some kind of esoteric symbolism going on? This was reinforced by finding a Masonic reference in the GMT poem about The Great First Cause. In the Alchemist book The Secret of the Golden Flower, the golden flower is thought by some to be the Emerald Tablet and in the spiritual side of Alchemy part of the process of purifying the spirit. Symbols of flowers, colours, suns and moons are part of the symbolism. Freemasonry derives is symbolism from the Hermetic tradition and has its own path towards spiritual enlightenment. Could there be a deeper level to some of these poems, especially in GMT’s sequence of sonnets under the heading Sonnets on Trees and Flowers I wondered?"

I hope you find these poems enjoyable and interesting. If you have any thoughts on any aspects of these poems, please leave a comment.

Trev Teasdel - 2012

On a Corn-field

On a Corn-field.

Oh, it is a glorious sight, that field of corn!
Yellow as amber is each ripen’d ear:
See, now they lowly bend,—like one forlorn,
Who o’er departed fiend doth drop a tear;
And now they rise majestic,—like a man 5
Who, hearing Slander blackening his name,
Resolves to do whate’er a true man can
To clear his conduct and uphold his fame,
Full soon, I ween, will merry reapers come,
With keen-edged hooks that shine like sabres bright, 10
And (cheer’d with thoughts of joyful harvest-home)
Toil ’neath the burning sun with hero-might.
Fill each the ale-horn; let them rest awhile,
And harmless chat the tedious hours beguile.

George Markham Tweddell
[Sonnets on Trees and Flowers, p. 1.] Also published in Yorkshire
Gazette, Aug. 29, 1848. Home Circle, Sept. 8, 1849. Darlington Times,
Sept. 14, 1850.

The Primrose (Primula vulgaris).

The Primrose (Primula vulgaris).

Sweet, modest flower, so gentle in its mien,
I ever love to gaze upon its form.
Full oft in childhood I’ve the Primrose seen,
Hiding its fragrant head from Borean storm,
In sheltered copse, by side of verdant hill, 5
On where to crystal river whimples still
Through scenes as lovely as the banks of Rhine;
What time the blackbird whistled till the green
Old gnarlêd woods re-echoed back the strain
And I have felt a glory truly mine 10
When I in primrosed walks have loitering been;
For earth seem’d free from every spot or stain
Of Sin and Care, which make the world a Hell,
And demons roam where angels fain would dwell.

George Markham Tweddell
[Sonnets on Trees and Flowers, p. 2.] Also published in Darlington
Times, Apr. 14, 1849. Cooper’s Journal, Apr. 13, 1850. Bury
Miscellany, May, 1855. Middlesbrough News, Apr. 27, 1866. South
Durham and Cleveland Mercury, March 9, 1867. Waikouaita Herald
[New Zealand], June 19, 1867. Barrow Times, May 22, 1869. Voice of
Masonry, Aug., 1882, Northern Weekly Gazette, Mar. 29/97.

The Beech.

The Beech.
I.

I envy not the taste of those who see
No beauty in the Beech. In Spring, its green
Is of the finest hue; and I have been,
Like Virgil, glad to its cool shade to flee
From Summer’s scorching heat. And when “the sere, 5
The yellow leaf,” shows on each other tree,
The scarlet Beech gives fine variety
To our Autumnal landscape; helping to cheer
The year’s decline. And when keen Winter comes,
And strips our trees of verdure, then the Beech 10
Shows its bare branches bravely—us to teach
How, if we breast the storms of life, our homes
The true abodes of Happiness will be,
As sure as leaves and mast again adorn this tree.

II.
Virgil and Ovid sang how Romans writ 15
Their names in the kind Beech tree’s friendly bark,
Together to endure; this lasting mark
Made Shakspere’s lovers, with their rustic wit,
In Ardenne’s Forest. Well our fathers knew
The value of its timber. Many a draught 20
Of mead or nut-brown ale, I ween, they quaff’d
From Beechen Bowls, when Boreas furious blew
His stormhorn all unheeded; and they slept
Soundly on leaves dropp’d from the old Beech Tree:
And many a meal from trenchers ate, which we, 25
With appetites like theirs, had gladly leapt
From fireside stools, had we been seated their,
To join with relish in their homely fare.


III.
’T was ’neath a “broad Beech-tree” that Walton sat—
Izaak, that prince of anglers!—when he heard 30
“Friendly contention” echoed from each bird
“In the adjoining grove.” Oh! thanks for that
That fine pastoral picture, which will never fade
While love of rural life is dear to man.
The “primrose hill,” “the silver streams” than ran, 35
“Opposed by rugged roots,” endear the shade
Of Walton’s Beech-tree to the end of time.
For us his “harmless lambs” indulge their sport;
For us his “handsome milkmaid’s” voice is fraught
With sweetest melody; her pleasant rhyme 40
“Made by Kit Marlow.” Honest Izaak! each
Lover of Nature venerates thy Beech.

George Markham Tweddell
[Sonnets on Trees and Flowers, pp. 3-5.] Also published in Voice of
Masonry, Oct., 1882. Hull Miscellany, Aug. 9, 1884. The second Sonnet is
quoted in Modern Yorkshire Poets, by William Andrews, p. 51.

The Stitchwort (Stellaria holostea).

The Stitchwort (Stellaria holostea).
I love, when loitering in some rustic lane,
To see Stitchwort’s little satin flower;
For every wilding is to me a dower
By nature given, to ease the mind of pain.
Emblem of innocence it seems to me; 5
With grass-like leaves of green, and petals white;
How it adorns the hedgerows, when the light
Falls full upon it! Spotless purity,
Like its, full pain would I now make my own.
I love each flower that pleased me when a child, 10
Whether in gardens cultured, or grown wild,
Far from the precincts of the smoky town,
With Nature for sole gardener: and she
Has no more loving child than I have wish’d to be.

George Markham Tweddell
[Sonnets on Trees and Flowers, p. 6.] Also published in Accrington Times,
July 15, 1882. Hull Miscellany, Sept. 9, 1882. Masonic Review, Nov.,
1883. Ulverston Mirror, April 11, 1885.

Sweet Gale, or Bog Myrtle (Myrica Gale).

Sweet Gale, or Bog Myrtle (Myrica Gale).
I.
Linton, our artist poet, tells a tale,

How “the sweet South Wind underground was frozen,
And only growth to save her could avail:”
So “she grew up a plant; the plant so chosen
We call in our North Country the Sweet Gale.” 5
It is a pleasant plant, which I have seen
Adorn our moors; in many a rural dale
I too have found it; and it long has been
Prized by the people, who loved to give their ale
A flavour from the herb ere hops were known: 10
Its leaves hung in the houses, did not fail
To yield them their sweet fragrance; most did own
Its powers medicinial; and its wax did form
Fine scented tapers ‘gainst dark Winter’s storm.
II.

And can we learn no lesson from this plant,
To guide us in our passage through the world?
Have we no offering from human want?
No pleasant perfumes from our lives unfurl’d?
If the Sweet Gale can e’en the bog adorn 5
With beauty and with fragrance, cannot we
Bring gifts to ev’ry child of woman born,
And help to gladden poor humanity?
We too can throw abroad some useful light,
Dispelling mental darkness around; 10
Can help to put fell Ignorance to flight;
And aid in binding up each bleeding wound,
Mental or physical, our fellows feel,
And cherish Virtue for our own and other’s weal.

George Markham Tweddell
[Sonnets on Trees and Flowers, pp. 7-8.] Also published in Leeds
Mercury Weekly Supplement, May 3, 1884. Voice of Masonry, May,
1884. Northern Weekly Gazette, April 24, 1897.

Jack-by-the-Hedge, or Sauce Alone (Sysimbricum Alliasion).

Jack-by-the-Hedge, or Sauce Alone
(Sysimbricum Alliasion).
‘Our ancestors’ sole salading! I greet
Your nettle looking leaves, and flowers of white,
With a true welcome, for ye seem to invite
The student to shut up his books, and meet
The jocund Springtime in her vernal bowers— 5
For listen to the minstrelry of birds—
To gaze on pastures fleckt with flocks and herds,
And buds burst into leaf, and other flowers
Than those you bear,—daisy and celandine,
Violet and stitchwort, archangels white and red, 10
Cowslip and primrose, and chickweed’s bed
Beneath the hedgerow; and, favourite of mine,
Whoever may despise that golden star,
The dandelion gleaming and far.

George Markham Tweddell
[Sonnets on Trees and Flowers, p. 9.] Also published in Cleveland
News, Aug. 29th,1885. Northern Weekly Gazette, Ap. 10/97.

The Harebell (Campanula rotundifolia).

The Harebell (Campanula rotundifolia).

No garden cultured flower e’er seems to me
More graceful than the Harebell growing wild.
It help’d to form my posy when a child,
And I now love to gather it to be
Part of a grandchild’s; for I would fain to teach 5
The love of flowers to all. With fancy free,
One may imagine fairy minstrelsy
Chiming from those frail bells: to all and each
They seem to ring out in the willing ear
Death to all evil, long life to all good; 10
That we have need of more than clothes and food
To truly live; and ev’ry passing year
Should find our love of beauty wax more strong;
And our whole lives should be sweet as a poet’s song.

George Markham Tweddell
[Sonnets on Trees and Flowers, p. 10.] Also published in Yorkshire
Gazette, October 10th, 1885. Texas Masonic Journal, Fort Worth,
Texas, July, 1886. Northern Weekly Gazette, Oct. 23/97.

Sonnet, written May 11th, 1884.

Sonnet, written May 11th, 1884.

In their full blush are now the flowers of Spring:
How the sweet Jacinth, with its watchet hue,
Vies with its neighbour Speedwell’s eyes of blue!
These, with the Primrose and the Cowslip, fling
Beauty o’er all the scene. Rose Campions bring 5
Their well-named blooms; Stichwort, and Cuckoo flowers,
And bright Marsh Marigolds, with these are ours
Daisies and Buttercups; while above us sing
The joyous Larks, making the welkin ring
With their choice melody. In yonder bush, 10
Just as in Walton’s day,* loud sings the Thrush;
The Cuckoo too brings her gay welcoming;
Whilst Broom, and Gorse, and Dandelion, as of old,
Gild all the landscape with their floral gold.

George Markham Tweddell
* “How do the Blackbird and Throssel, with their
melodious voices, bid welcome to the cheerful Spring, and
in their fixed months warble forth such ditties as no art or
instrument can reach to.”—The Complete Angler, written
in 1653. The Song Thrush is still called the Throssel in
Yorkshire.
[Sonnets on Trees and Flowers, pp. 11-12.] “The foregoing Sonnet
appeared in the Leeds Mercury Weekly Supplement, May 17, 1884.
The Masonic Review, Cincinnati, Ohio, United States, May, 1885”.

The Dandelion (Dens Leonis).

The Dandelion (Dens Leonis).

I love the Dandelion’s golden stars,
Gleaming in beauty o’er the vernal meads:
Some seventy years agone, I blew its seeds
To tell what ‘t was o’clock! My spirit wars
With Superstition—strives to break its yoke 5
For self and others; yet I love to see
My grandbairns, in their joyous innocency,
Blowing the down-wing’d seeds, when oft we walk
Along the foot-paths of my native vale:
And when they stop to pluck the hollow stems 10
To make their floral chains, I fancy gems,
Though rich and rare, in after years will fail
To give them equal pleasure. Are not we
Oft idling our lives away o’er seeds of Vanity?

George Markham Tweddell

[Sonnets on Trees and Flowers, p. 13.] Also published in Voice of
Masonry, Chicago, Illinois, U.S., January, 1887, Texas Masonic
Journal, Fort Worth, Texas, U.S., July, 1887 Northern Weekly
Gazette, April 3rd, 1897.

The Bramble (Rubus Vulgaris).

The Bramble (Rubus Vulgaris).

Brave Elliot loved “thy satin-threaded flowers,”
Dear Bramble! All who appreciate those things
Of beauty which Nature as largess flings
So freely over valleys, plains, and moors,
Must share the Corn Law Rhymer’s healthy love. 5
And who in Autumn does not like to taste
Thy pleasant Dewberries?* There is no waste
Throughout the universe; for all things move
In strict obedience to the unchanging laws
Wisely laid down by Him who cannot err; 10
And He alone is His true worshipper
Who studies to obey them. The Great First Cause
Adorns our very brakes with fruit and flowers,—
As if to teach us all that happiness may be ours.

George Markham Tweddell
* During my various visits to the Land of Shakspere, I fully satisfied
myself, by frequent inquiries among the people, that the “Dewberries”
mentioned by our great Bard, were not Gooseberries, as erroneously
stated by some of the Commentators, but really the fruit of the Bramble.
I got Warwickshire agricultural labourers, about Stratford-on-Avon, to
gather for me sprays of what they call “Dewberries”. Without telling
them what I believed them to be, and the briars, leaves, flowers, and
fruit, which they collected for me, were always those of the Bramble.
[Sonnets on Trees and Flowers, pp. 14-15.] Also published in Texas
Masonic Journal, Sept., 1886. Voice of Masonry, Chicago, Illinois,
U.S., Feb., 1888 (without Note)


...................................


Editor's Note -
Tweddell refers to Ebenezer Elliott's poem below. Elliott is known as the Poor Law poet and both shared a concern for the poor and for nature in their work. Paul Tweddell and I (Trev Teasdel), with the help of Malcolm Chase of Leeds University and Keith Morris who runs the Ebenezer Elliott website explored the relationship between the two poets recently.

You can read our findings here http://georgemarkhamtweddell.blogspot.co.uk/2011/04/poets-view-of-george-markham-tweddell.html under the sub heading -
A Radical Canon of  Poets: EBENEZER ELLIOT


And further work on Keith Morris's Ebenezer Elliott site - here http://www.judandk.force9.co.uk/Tweddell.html George Tweddell & the Rabble's Poet


And the full site for Ebenezeer Elliott - http://www.judandk.force9.co.uk/elly.htm

Here is Ebenezer Elliott's poem

To the Bramble Flower
Thy fruit full-well the schoolboy knows,
Wild bramble of the brake!
So, put thou forth thy small white rose:
I love it for its sake.
Though woodbines flaunt and roses glow
O’er all the fragrant bowers,
Thou needst not be ashamed to show
Thy satin-threaded flowers;
For dull the eye, the heart is dull,
That cannot feel how fair,
Amid all beauty beautiful,
Thy tender blossoms are!
How delicate thy gauzy frill!
How rich thy branchy stem!
How soft thy voice, when woods are still,
And thou sing'st hymns to them;
While silent showers are falling slow
And, 'mid the general hush,
A sweet air lifts the little bough,
Lone whispering through the bush!
The primrose to the grave is gone;
The hawthorn flower is dead;
The violet by the moss'd grey stone
Hath laid her weary head;
But thou, wild bramble! back dost bring,
In all their beauteous power,
The fresh green days of life's fair spring,
And boyhood's blossomy hour.
Scorn'd bramble of the brake! once more
Thou bid'st me be a boy,
To gad with thee the woodlands o'er,
In freedom and in joy.[viii]

The Germander Speedwell (Veronica chameadrys).

The Germander Speedwell
(Veronica chameadrys).
I have a special liking for thy flowers,
Germander Speedwell! Like to angels’ eyes
They seem to me; bluer than watchet skies
When most serene in Summer’s loveliest hours:
And all life long in Nature’s sylvan bowers, 5
From early childhood, till my hair is white
With frosts of three score Winters, my delight
Was greater than my muse’s feeble powers
Can e’er express, whene’er I met with thee.
I thank my God for ev’ry floral gem, 10
And for the joy I feel in loving them.
Though poor in purse, I hold the world in fee:
For none need e’er feel poor, despised, or dull,
Who truly loves the Good and Beautiful.

George Markham Tweddell
[Sonnets on Trees and Flowers, p. 16.] Also published in Hull Weekly
Express, Aug. 30, 1884. Texas Masonic Journal, Sept., 1886. Northern
Weekly Gazette, June 19th, 1897

The Cracking of the Corn.

The Cracking of the Corn.

When loitering in the Cornfield, I have oft
Listen’d with pleasure to crackling sound
Made fitfully by ripening grain all round;
Glass-coated straws, each bearing up aloft
Its load of welcome food,—Oats, Barley, Wheat, 5
Or Rye; fit nutriment for beast and man:
And when cool zephyrs breathe, to gently fan
Our burning brows in the autumnal heat,
How gracefully the golden grain doth wave
Its myriad heads in homage to the sun! 10
Mankind from savagery had well begun
To march the path of progress, and to have
Dim notions they were for usefulness were born,
Men in rude furrows they first sow’d the corn.

George Markham Tweddell
[Sonnets on Trees and Flowers, p. 17.] Also published in The
Freemason, Detroit, Michigan, U.S., Nov. 13, 1886, Northern
fWeekly Gazette, October 30th, 1897

The Daisy (Bellis Perennis).

The Daisy (Bellis Perennis).

The “Day’s Eye” blooms in father Chaucer’s verse,
Through all the centuries; in an inspired hour,
Burns sang the “modest, crimson, tippêd flower”;
Sweetly and brief as old Wither did rehearse
How it does “shut when Titan goes to bed;” 5
Wordsworth with mighty power, has hymn’d its praise;
Montgomery i’ the choicest of his lays,
Tells “how it never dies!” Often it led
Our infant footsteps into rural lanes,
Or along by-paths rich with many a gem 10
Fallen from Flora’s glowing diadem,
Till health and happiness were e’er our gains.
Children are always poets: pity we
Should ever quench the sparks of poësy.

George Markham Tweddell
[Sonnets on Trees and Flowers, p. 18.] Also published in Voice of
Masonry, March, 1885. Northern Weekly Gazette, April 17/97.


................................
Editor's note -

In the intro to the Collected poems of George Markham Tweddell, descendant Paul Tweddell suggests, in relation to this poem -

"GMT also created his own ‘national canon’ in the poem on p. 186 below, ‘The Daisy (Bellis Perennis)’, which reinforced his wish to be judged alongside the ‘radical’ poets in the widest sense. These were Chaucer, Burns, Wither (1588-1667)[ix], James Montgomery (1771-1854), with Southey added later as a poet, but not for his politics (see the poem ‘Robert Southey’ – p. 50 below) and ‘William Wordsworth’ (p. 63 below). Montgomery, although a Scot, was a campaigning reformist especially against slavery, spending much of his life in Yorkshire and was imprisoned in 1795 and 1796. Later he responded to Ebenezer Elliot’s request for advice on his poetry, information that strengthens GMT’s links to like-minded poets.[x]"

Full text of intro here  http://georgemarkhamtweddell.blogspot.co.uk/2011/04/poets-view-of-george-markham-tweddell.html  sub-heading A Radical Cannon of Poets.

The Marsh Marigold (Caltha palustris)

The Marsh Marigold (Caltha palustris)

Bonnie Marsh Marigold adorns the brook
In clumps like burnish’d gold. The earth is now
Not vile, but fit for angels. We must sow
The seeds of virtue broadcast, and may look
For happiness when we obey the laws 5
Of Nature, which are God’s: when we rebel
In our own minds we carry the real hell,
Which burns to punish all who may oppose
The great Creator’s will. ‘T was never meant
Mankind should be unhappy. Earth and sky 10
Unite to ask us the real reason why
Such misery is ours: for God has sent
All that is needful for our happiness,—
Only we hate each other when we should caress.

George Markham Tweddell
[Sonnets on Trees and Flowers, p. 19.] Also published in Texas
Masonic Journal, May, 1887 Northern Weekly Gazette, June 5th,
1897.


Editor's Note


Paul Tweddell sent me a copy the poem below by George Wither 1588 - 1667) in 2008 as a poet that had influenced George Markham Tweddell. I recalled that GMT also had one called Marsh Marigold (above) and somehow felt there was some symbolism going on in both poems. I scrolled down the Wither poem to find the note at the foot of the poem to discover that the whither poem was a well known Emblem writer. Afterwards I found plenty of evidence that GMT was employing Emblems and Masonic symbolism in his poems. here's the Whither poems from this website https://tspace.library.utoronto.ca/html/1807/4350/poem2325.html

The Marigold

              1When with a serious musing I behold

              2The grateful and obsequious marigold,

              3How duly, ev'ry morning, she displays

              4Her open breast, when Titan spreads his rays;

              5How she observes him in his daily walk,

              6Still bending towards him her tender stalk;

              7How, when he down declines, she droops and mourns,

              8Bedew'd, as 'twere, with tears, till he returns;

              9And how she veils her flow'rs when he is gone,

            10As if she scorned to be looked on

            11By an inferior eye, or did contemn

            12To wait upon a meaner light than him;

            13When this I meditate, methinks the flowers

            14Have spirits far more generous than ours,

            15And give us fair examples to despise

            16The servile fawnings and idolatries

            17Wherewith we court these earthly things below,

            18Which merit not the service we bestow.

            19But, O my God! though groveling I appear

            20Upon the ground (and have a rooting here

            21Which hales me downward) yet in my desire

            22To that which is above me I aspire;

            23And all my best affections I profess

            24To Him that is the sun of righteousness.

            25Oh, keep the morning of His incarnation,

            26The burning noontide of His bitter passion,

            27The night of His descending, and the height

            28Of His ascension ever in my sight,

            29    That imitating Him in what I may,

            30    I never follow an inferior way.

Notes

1] The first emblem book (or book containing pictorial representations whose symbolic meaning is expressed in words) was the Emblematum Libellus of Alciati (1522). This was widely imitated, Quarles and Wither being the best known English emblem writers.

21] hales: drags.

..............................................

A contribution to the discussion of George Markham Tweddell's use of emblems and symbols in his poetry can be found here - http://georgemarkhamtweddell.blogspot.co.uk/2011/04/poets-view-of-george-markham-tweddell.html under the sub-heading Emblems and Symbols.

The Red Poppy (Papaver rhoeas)

The Red Poppy (Papaver rhoeas)
I.

Look, how the Poppies flaunt their red-red flags
O’er all yon cornfield,—beauty out of place!
So when the angel Peace would bless our race,
The demon War, in horrid triumph, drags
His gore-stain’d chariot; drums and trumpets sound 5
To nerve the soldier’s arm to burn and slay,
And showy banners are unfurl’d alway,—
All fitter far for peace. How ‘t will redound
To human happiness when men shall learn
That wars are all unneeded! We can take 10
The Poppy’s juice, and from it we can make
An anodyne to pain: but when we burn,
Blow up, pull down, or (worst of all) take life,
Our acts perforce with misery are rife.


II
And yet I love you, Poppy’s warlike flag! 15
Its dusky green, hairy, indented leaves,
The brilliant scarlet of the flower relieves:
And well it shows waving on yonder crag
Like baron’s banner on his donjon keep.
What though it be but a poor fragile flower? 20
To cheer my heart it still has got the power,
As when in childhood I did careless creep
To pluck it growing midst my grandsire’s corn.
Our ancestors from Poppies did prepare
That gentle soothing cordial, used with care, 25
Was softer that strong opiates. We are prone
Too much our useful simples to despise,
And in our ignorance deem ourselves most wise.

George Markham Tweddell
[Sonnets on Trees and Flowers; Stanza I on p. 20, stanza II on p. 4]

The Mints (Mentha).

The Mints (Mentha).

Sweet is the Spearmint’s perfume, and the taste
Is pleasant to the palate; poor would be
The salad lacking its fine fragrancy.
The Peppermint must not be thrown to waste;
For, when distill’d, the prudent dame well knows 5
Its worth medicinal. And then we have
Good Pennyroyal. All Mints help to save
From needless suffering ev’ry one of those
Who use them all aright. No herb that grows
But hath its uses: none were made in vain: 10
E’en poisonous plants at time can ease our pain.
Ever since Knowledge among men arose,
The wise have sought in simples for the good
Which helps to drive Death’s poisons from our blood.*

George Markham Tweddell
*Shakspere was an evident believer in their efficacy, or we never
should have had the fine passage put into the mouth of the Friar in
the opening of the first scene of the second act of his Romeo and
Juliet.
[Sonnets on Trees and Flowers, p. 21]

The Butterbur (Petasites vulgaris)

The Butterbur (Petasites vulgaris)

I cannot say I love thy flesh-like flower,
Wild Butterbur; and yet I like to see
It rising through the sand,—sure sign to me
That Spring at last has come, and that the power
Of Titan will increase each day and hour, 5
And thy large leaves will follow into due time;
When, though my manhood has far passed its prime,
I love to see some child (its parents too poor
To purchase parasols) use thy big leaves
To shade itself from Summer’s scorching heat, 10
Whilst older children cool their heated feet
In the clear brook; and wond’ring sheep and beeves
Stand staring at them in the neighb’ring fields;
A pastoral picture which to me can pleasure yield.

George Markham Tweddell
[Sonnets on Trees and Flowers, p. 22]

Autumnal Sonnet

Autumnal Sonnet

The sweet, but fragile, Hedge-Rose now is gone,
And the bright scarlet Hips the Briars adorn
With other beauty; what erst was “milk-white Thorn.”
In lieu of fragrant blossoms, bears upon
Each branch the ruddy Hoars. Autumn now 5
Begins to show “the sere, the yellow leaf;”
But of all sights, rich Harvest Fields are chief,
And the ripe Apples lading every bough
In pleasant orchards. Now the Bramble yields
Its luscious Dewberries. Everywhere around 10
Are gifts for Strength and Beauty. Now are found
Rosy-gill’d Mushrooms, dotting the green fields
With their white umbels. There is much amiss
When Want exists in a good land like this!

George Markham Tweddell
[Sonnets on Trees and Flowers, p. 23]

The Pimpernel. (Anagallis arvensis.)

The Pimpernel. (Anagallis arvensis.)

All who feel joy our rural sights to see,
Must know the little scarlet Pimpernel;
And they who named it “Shepherd’s Hourglass,” well
Had noted with what regularity
It opes and closes in the dry fine air. 5
You need not seek it when the atmosphere
Is charged with moisture. When the air is clear,
It opens early; but we may despair
Of finding it late in the afternoon.
True to the “short time movement” is this flower; 10
As if to teach us God ne’er meant each hour
Of our short lives should be all fret and frown;
But, like the Pimpernel, to rest and shine,
And prove the Hand that made us is Divine.

George Markham Tweddell
[Sonnets on Trees and Flowers, p. 24.] Also published in
Masonic Review, Cincinnati, Ohio, U.S., November 1887.

The Tormentil.

The Tormentil.

I never trod a grassy mountain’s brow
But this small golden disk was there, to give
Me its glad welcomings; teaching me to live
A life of beauty, and be useful too.
Our fathers in their fevers sought its aid— 5
Their sheep and swine throve well on it for food—
Its tanning properties were understood
In many lands; the Laplander has made
It yield its fine red dye, to ornament
His rein-deers’ trappings, his girdle and his gloves; 10
For every child of Nature dearly loves
The beautiful, and every flower is sent
For use as well as beauty,—only we
Are heedless of their wondrous potency!

George Markham Tweddell
[Sonnets on Trees and Flowers, p. 25]

The Lesser Celandine, or Pilewort.

The Lesser Celandine, or Pilewort.

Nature’s true poet, Wordsworth, dearly loved
The Lesser Celandine, and much its flowers
Delighted him, in lanes and woods, on moors,
Or near poor cottage doors, where’er he roved:
And he so hymn’d its praise, that I despair 5
Of telling, how, from childhood, it to me
Has been a thing of magic potency
To cheer my spirits, when the chilling air
Of Winter is departing, and bright Spring
Is calling out her flowers. Our fathers named 10
It Pilewort, for long with them was famed
Among their herbal healers. It doth bring
Joy, ere the Cuckoo’s note is heard, for we
Feel Spring has come, with flowers and minstrelsy.

George Markham Tweddell
[Sonnets on Trees and Flowers, p. 26]

Cowslip.

Cowslip.
(See also page 34.)

[i.e. between ‘Bindweed’- here p. 186 and ‘Pears’, p. 187]
Shakspere (for nothing either great or small
Escaped his observation) noted well
The rubies in their coats of gold. Hill and dell
And plain, lacking his fairy pensioners tall,*
Would greatly lose their charm, when joyous Spring 5
Wake all to life with flowers and songs of birds.
What pleasure it in early life affords
To gather cowslips! What time the valleys ring—
As in the days of Walton’s wanderings
+
—
In musical contention with sweet notes 10
Gushing in ecstasy from long-silent throats
Of Thrush and Blackbird; whilst the glad lark sings
Its hymns above us in the clear blue sky,
And Earth seems happy then both far and nigh.

George Markham Tweddell
* + See over for Notes
[Sonnets on Trees and Flowers, p. 27]


Notes to “Cowslips” – see other side on p. 27
In the finely-fanciful drama, A Midsummer Night’s Dream,
Shakspere has made the Fairy sing in the Athenian wood, an
answer to Puck’s inquiry – “How now spirit! Whither wander
you?”—
“Over hill, over dale,
Through bush, through brier,
Over park, over pale,
Through flood, through fire,
I do wonder everywhere,
Swifter than the moon’s sphere;
And I serve the Fairy Queen,
To dew her orbs upon the green:
The cowslip tall her pensioners be;
In their gold coats spots you see;
Those be rubies, fairy favours,
In those freckles live their savours;
I must go seek some dewdrops here,
And hang a pearl in every cowslip’s ear.
Farewell, thou lob of spirits, I’ll be gone;
Our Queen and all her elves come here anon.”
+
“Look! Under the broad beech tree I sat down when I was
last this way a-fishing, and the birds in the adjoining grove
seemed to have a friendly contention with an echo, whose dead
voice seemed to live in a hollow tree near to the brow of the
primrose hill.”—The Complete Angler, by Isaak Walton.
[Sonnets on Trees and Flowers, p. 28]

Foxgloves.

Foxgloves.
Some of my most delightful days through life
Were spent where Foxgloves tower’d in all their pride,
Along some pleasant mountains grassy side,
Or rustic road[1] or valley. All was rife
With sounds and sights of Summer. Even now, 5
In fancy they are with me, as I sit,
Drinking in ancient lore or modern wit,
Before my Winter’s fire; whose cheerful glow
Gladdens the long dark night. What, though as food
The plant be poison, its fine fairy bells 10
Are beautiful to look upon; and these knells
From them the death-note of Disease,—for good
Is Digitalis when ‘t is used aright:
Hence is the Foxglove pure in the great Maker’s sight.

George Markham Tweddell
[Sonnets on Trees and Flowers, p. 29]
[[1]
Alternative ‘rural road’]

The Heather, or Ling.

The Heather, or Ling.

I love all Heaths—even the common Ling
Gleaming in purple pride upon the moors;
Nor would I wish to live more happy hours
Than have been mine among its blossoming,—
Whilst bees with honey-laden thighs flew by, 5
Bearing the rifled sweets to their far cells.
He who loves Nature truly, ever dwells
’Midst sights and sounds of beauty ever nigh.
Even in Winter, they seem with us still,
In Memory’s chambers, with a magic power 10
Recalling songs of birds heard in some hour
Long since departed, and views from many a hill
We ne’er may climb again: and purple Ling
Seems once again to bear its welcome offering.

George Markham Tweddell
[Sonnets on Trees and Flowers, p. 30]

The English Oak.

The English Oak.
Emblem of sturdy strength, our English Oak

Stretches abroad its horizontal arms,
Unlike all other trees. How great its charms,
To us who dearly love the rustic walk,
When it doth don its robes of lovely green! 5
Like it, let us be sound at heart,—for we
May lessons of wisdom learn from ev’ry tree,
And let them in our daily lives be seen
Not taught in vain. Like our own Oaks we must
Stand firm through storm and calm: and then the sun 10
Of happiness is sure to shine upon
All who are wisely brave, and put their trust
In him who sends at times His storms to try
If we be lacking in fidelity.

George Markham Tweddell
[Sonnets on Trees and Flowers, p. 31]

Bindweed—Convulvulus Major.

Bindweed—Convulvulus Major.
I.

How gracefully the climbing Bindweed shows
Its next green leaves and beautiful white flowers,
Closing its bell ere night, or before showers
Fall on the thirsty ground: for Nature throws
Much to delight the eye profusely round. 5
All things in their right place are good; e’en this
Fair flower ’midst corn or gardens comes amiss,—
Running, like erring mortals, on the ground
Where it is most unwelcome: so that men
Call its intruding roots by a vile name. 10
As though they from the Prince of Evil came.*
Yet it is truly ornamental when
Planted where wanted, and train’d up to be
In its right place—the truest liberty.
(*Devil’s Gut.)
II.
Our fathers boil’d its spreading roots in ale 15
For physic, in the days they wisely went
To gather simples, just as Shakspere sent
Good Friar Lawrence in his touching tale
Of Mantua’s cursed feuds. Its pointed leaves
Bearded at base, would ready model be 20
For warriors’ lance, or English archery
To shape its arrow-heads: for the mind grieves
To see in every age how men are prone
To seek to injure rather than to bless—
To trample on each other—not caress,— 25
As though they loved to hear the shriek or moan
Of fellow-creatures suffering grief and pain,
Rather than aid to make them blest again.

George Markham Tweddell
[Sonnets on Trees and Flowers, pp. 32-33.] Also published
in The Voice of Masonry, Chicago, Illinois, U.S., Dec.,
1887.

Pears.

Pears.

All fruits have good and bad, but most of all
The pears remind me of my fellow-men:
Some are so choicely sweet, that ever when
We taste them, they seem fit for cot or hall;
Others so worthless that at once they pall 5
The longing appetite; then again we see
Some which appear as sound as well could be,
Whilst they are rotten, at the heart;—we call
Men like them hypocrites. Then why should we
Not each be sweet in manners, and at heart 10
Soft but yet sound?—ready to act our part
So that ourselves and others happily
May live on earth according to God’s will,
And strive our mission here to faithfully fulfil!

George Markham Tweddell
[Sonnets on Trees and Flowers, p. 35]

Herb Robert. (Geranium Robertianum.)

Herb Robert.
(Geranium Robertianum.)

Oft in my rural rambles I have seen
A pretty little flower to court my eye,
One many all unheedingly pass by—
A sort of wild geranium I ween,
Y-cleped Herb Robert. Spring and Summer through 5
We may delight to see its deep pink flowers;
For Nature all her largess freely showers
So that each lane and hedgerow all can show
Their rights of beauty. If this flower was rare,
And needed careful tending and the heat 10
Of yonder hot-house, and it was a feat
To raise the plant taxing the gardener’s care;
How would Herb Robert then be in esteem,
Which because free to all is now despised I deem.

George Markham Tweddell
[Sonnets on Trees and Flowers, p. 36]

Wild Sorrel.

Wild Sorrel.

There’s not a plant which grows that does not add
More beauty to the earth from which it springs,
And dying will enrich; nor birds that sings
But brings fresh melody. Nature has clad
Her whole domain with gifts to make us glad, 5
If we will learn to use them. As I pass
Along the meadows, waving ’midst the grass
I make a simple herb which when a lad
I liked to eat. Its acid used to cool
My heated mouth in summer; and I like, 10
E’en in old age, to see its ruddy spike
Of simple flowers, as when on leaving school
I sought its leaves as salad. Sour Docks then
We call’d what now is Sorrel to us men.

George Markham Tweddell
[Sonnets on Trees and Flowers, p. 37]

The Rose

The Rose

From Shakspere’s “Canker” Roses, red or white,
To those in gardens grown whate’er their hue,
I feel them all my spirit to imbue
With a most innocent and great delight.
They are all most refreshing to the sight, 5
As well as pleasant to the smell. I know,
Of all the welcome flowers on earth blow,
None that bloom fairer in the sun’s bright light:
Children, true critics of the beautiful,
All love the Rose: it is a perfect flower— 10
Form, scent and colour. What a glorious dower
Has Nature given to all! We cannot call
From all the floral gems she round us throws
One gift more graceful than the lovely Rose.

George Markham Tweddell
[Sonnets on Trees and Flowers, p. 38]

Lavender.

Lavender.

Hail to the fragrant spikes, sweet Lavender!
Old Isaak Walton show’d his judgement clear
When he rejoiced that they were drawing near
“An honest ale-house,” and he knew that her
Who kept it was civil and clean, and that 5
The sheets in which they there that night would sleep
Would “smell of Lavender.” How they would creep
Between such sheets with gladness, and with what
Delight their tired limbs then would woo repose!
Of all the scents I know, none can excel 10
Thy fragrance Lavender! Fine is the smell
Of beans in blossom, of wallflowers, or the rose;
I like them all, but I can never see
How liking them prevents me liking thee!

George Markham Tweddell
[Sonnets on Trees and Flowers, p. 39]

Blue Cranesbill.

Blue Cranesbill.

Thou must have mark’d oft, in thy summer walks,
The Blue Cranesbill; which has derived its name,
As its seed vesicles at once proclaim,
From the resemblance which the country folks
Noticed to the Crane’s Bill. Its watchet flower 5
Is beautiful, and so are its green leaves,
In shape so graceful; and the poet grieves
To find how few adults now feel the power
Of wildflowers to give pleasure to their souls.
In childhood we all loved them: why should we 10
Lock up that love and throw away the key?
’T is a pure pleasure which in youth controls
The minds of all when e’er they look on flowers,
And we should all life long keep those fine feelings ours.

George Markham Tweddell
[Sonnets on Trees and Flowers, p. 40.] Also published in The
Voice of Masonry, Chicago, U.S., July, 1893.

Canterbury Bells. (Trachelium majus.)

Canterbury Bells.
(Trachelium majus.)

Blooming beneath the woodland’s pleasant shade,
Square stalk’d, with leaves indented from broad base
To their fine points, here plentiful, though scarce
In open plains, are flowers that might upbraid
All useless men and women, seeing they 5
Combine both use and beauty. So should we,
Dear Canterbury Bells, be not less than ye!
White, pinky, blue, your flowers are ever gay
As they are graceful; and to Fancy’s ear
They ring out sweetest music. Though the dull 10
And worldly mind ne’er heeds how beautiful
Are your fine Bells, yet it is very clear
As your name, Throat-wort, very plainly tells,
Our fathers knew the use of Canterbury Bells.

George Markham Tweddell
[Sonnets on Trees and Flowers, p. 42]

Buttercups.

Buttercups.

Who does not love the golden Buttercups,
Flecking the vernal meadows until they
Seem robed in cloth-of-gold, they look so gay!
In such a spot sure Flora often sups,
With Zephyrus and Carps. Every child 5
Knows and appreciates this beauteous flower;
For Nature gives the dullest mind the power
Of loving Flora’s gifts, cultured or wild;
And much we err in middle-life if we
Let selfish cares destroy our early love. 10
For me, I still am child enough to rove
The hills and plains and dales with ecstasy,
Culling my wildflowers soon as they may blow,
Just as I used to do some sixty years ago.

George Markham Tweddell
[Sonnets on Trees and Flowers, p. 43]

The Black Thorn, or Sloe. (Prunus Spinosa.)

The Black Thorn, or Sloe.
(Prunus Spinosa.)

I joy to see white blossoms of the Sloe
Adorning all our hedge-rows, for it comes
Before my much-loved Hawthorn. Its small plums
(Even yet I dearly love to see them grow,—
Mark well that delicate bloom upon the fruit!) 5
Were not too tart in boyhood for my taste.
Even now I would protect them; for no waste
Should be on earth: man, or bird, or beast,
Have need of all; and in keen winter-time
Many a sweet songster would be scant of food 10
Had not the God of Nature seen it good
To order thorns and briars in our clime,
After their flowering, each in order meet,
To furnish forth the birds a most delicious treat.

George Markham Tweddell
[Sonnets on Trees and Flowers, p. 44]

The Moors.

The Moors.

I have no wish to live on the wild Moors,
Far from the dwelling of my fellow-men,
With none whom I could ever aid, for then
I should not be a hand to lend those powers
The poorest all possess to bless mankind. 5
Yet dearly do I love with some choice friend
Among the Moors for miles our way to wend,—
One who to Nature’s beauty is not blind.
But when the purple heather is in bloom,
And the bees murmur music all around— 10
And far and wide if heard no other sound
Save the sweet songs of birds—when whin and broom
Glow with their fires of gold both far and near—
A day on the wide Moors is joy for many a year.

George Markham Tweddell
[Sonnets on Trees and Flowers, p. 45]

The Birch. (Betula alba.)

The Birch.
(Betula alba.)
I.

Hail to the Birch—that graceful, fragrant tree,
“The Lady of the Woods” by Coleridge named!
All its varieties by man are claim’d
For use as well as beauty: all agree
To turn its every part to useful ends. 5
Its bark has form’d canoes to sail the deep,
And thatch’d the peasants’ cots to help to keep
Them shelter’d from all storms for selves and friends;
Its timber makes us barrels; its tough twigs
Make brooms to sweep the streets,—use better far 10
Than in the hands of pedants who wage war
With Nature (stupider than yonder pigs
Trespassing i’ the garden) when on the breech
Of the poor children they revenge their incapacity to teach.
II.
Blame not the elegant tree if brutal men 15
Have seized upon its elastic boughs and made
Things of them which have made children afraid
Of them their vile schools,—too oft the den
Of grossest thraldom to the wakening mind,
Which needs most gently leading to those stores 20
Of knowledge inexhaustible, on which roars
The soul from earth to heaven, where all refines
And true and pure thoughts, feelings live for aye.
Use then all things aright, but none abuse,
And then the lovely Birch will not refuse 25
Her aid in helping on the coming day
When hate and war and misery shall cease,
And all earth’s peoples dwell in happiness and peace.


III.
Unequal to the Oak in turning power,
Oil from its bark preserves the student’s books 30
From worser bookworms; and nowhere looks
In vain to see the pretty sylvan tower
Adorn the landscape, e’en though poor the soil.
Fodder, and oft a substitute for tea,
Leaves from its slender sprays are found to be, 35
Refreshing to the humble sons of toil.
Its colour serves for dyeing, yellow, red;
It juice once help’d the English housewife’s wine;
Its timber, though coarse-grain’d, has uses fine
And has to every art been closely wed. 40
Then let us cherish this most elegant tree
To give our forests fine variety.

George Markham Tweddell
[Sonnets on Trees and Flowers, pp. 46-48]

The Horse Chestnut. (Æsculus Hippocastrum.)

The Horse Chestnut.
(Æsculus Hippocastrum.)
I.
Of ornamental trees, there are but few

That with the Horse Chestnut e’er compare:
Cover’d with pyramids of flowers most fair,
And large green leaves, methinks there never grew
A prettier tree in all our sylvan land. 5
If Shakspere’s eyes had seen this noble tree
It would have bloom’d in his true poësy
As it can ne’er in mine: and yet I stand
Gazing with rapture on each spreading bough.
They who from Asia first did introduce 10
The graceful stranger, doubtless knew its use;
For the Turks grind the nuts that on it grow
To help to feed his horses; poultry, sheep,
All find them food; and dyers from its bark
Obtain a yellow. Then plant it in thy park. 15
[15 line sonnet]


II.
Plant it, but in good soil. It will repay
The fully, in the beauty it will give
To all the landscape; for we ought to live
To adorn the land which Nature would make
With varied colours if she had her way. 5
With lichens she soon tints the barest stones;
With mosses and aquatic flowers adorns
The unsightly bogs; and whether sand or clay,
Enriches poorest land, so that it may
In time become good soil. Like Adam we 10
Are set to dress our Eden: let us be
Good gardeners, so that at our last day,
When we give up our stewardship, we all
May cheerfully obey the Master’s call.

George Markham Tweddell
[Sonnets on Trees and Flowers, pp. 49-50]

The mountain Ash. (Pyrus Aucuparia)

The Mountain Ash.
(Pyrus Aucuparia)
I.

I love the Mountain Ash—the Rowntree[1] dear—
Not merely for some of my ancestry
Taking their surname from that lovely tree,
But for its beauty. ’T is a sight to cheer
The poet in the early Summer days; 5
Its light green leaves and bunches of white flowers
Are pleasant to the eye: when Autumn pours
Its ripen’d corn and fruits, and thus repays
The labours of the year, its berries red
Come teaching us like Christ, that corn and fruits 10
And all the best of our most cultured roots
Are not the only things on which are fed
The sterling man or woman, but that we
Must hold the very universe in fee.


Our foolish fathers deem’d it had the power 15
To shield them from the witches’ wicked arts;
For then had Superstition’s poisen’d darts
Enter’d their brains, and Ignorance did tower
Over mankind with most unholy sway.
The hetacombs were slaughter’d at the shine 20
Of foul Injustice, deem’d by them divine,
Which Knowledge happily has destoy’d for aye.
In boyhood from such boughs I whistles made;
Now I would scorn to injure the dear tree,
It is an object so beloved by me; 25
And things of beauty from the mind ne’er fade.
Leave its bright scarlet berries for the birds
Whose songs are sweeter e’en than the poet’s words.

George Markham Tweddell
[Sonnets on Trees and Flowers, pp. 51-52]
[[1] The tree’s name gave rise to the local surname
‘Rowntree’ and was the maiden name of GMT’s paternal
grandmother, Camilla (1774-1849) from Middleton-on-
Leven.]

The Brown Beech

The Brown Beech
Fine for variety—but give me green;
Green, pale in springtime, dark in summer days,
Changing to gray beneath the sun’s hot rays,
And when the autumn comes, then to be seen
Changed to the numerous tints which so adorn 5
The forests ere they cast their dying leaves.
Nature her wreath of beauty ever weaves
To gladden every eye: not man’s alone,
But those of birds, beasts, insects; e’en the sea
Has its fine flora for the finny tribe. 10
We in our selfishness too oft ascribe
All things as form’d for us alone; and we
Are all too apt to this mistake to cling,
Forgetting God hath love for every living thing.

George Markham Tweddell
[Sonnets on Trees and Flowers, p. 53]

Marsh Wound Wort. (Stachys Palustris.)

Marsh Wound Wort.
(Stachys Palustris.)
Good John Gerarde, our earliest botanist—
Whose name shines bright amongst those of the men
Who did adorn old England in days when
Wise Shakspere had got foremost in the list
Of her great dramatists—has told us that 5
A Kentish mower with his scythe had cut
Himself severely, and to the wound did put
Thy leaves of grease beat up; also with what
Potency it did heal it in a week.
Methinks that all the herbs sown so profuse 10
O’er all the earth, each have their proper use,
And we should study them with spirit meek,
To find in ev’ry weed on ev’ry sod
A blessing sent us from the hand of God.

George Markham Tweddell
[Sonnets on Trees and Flowers, p. 54]

Chickweed.

Chickweed.
With tiny stars of white as pure as snow,

Coming before the Stitchwort, and to me,
Like it, an emblem of sweet innocency;
Their flowers, too, much alike,—only now
We see the Chickweed’s is a smaller star, 5
And the whole plant is very different;
We must not dream that it on earth was sent
For no wise purpose; for its cool leaves are,
Not merely food for fowls, but useful when
Applied alike to sores of man and beast. 10
Were we more wise, we’d ne’er despise the least
Work o’ the Almighty Architect. Then,
But not till then, we will be sure to find
The humblest weed of use to body and to mind.

George Markham Tweddell
[Sonnets on Trees and Flowers, p. 55]