I gather the larkspur Over the hillside, Blown mid the chaos Of boulder and bellbine; Hating the tyrant Who made me an outcast, Who of his leisure Now spares me no moment: Drinking the mountain spring, Shading at noon-day Under the cypress My limbs from the sun glare.

You see, I have been about horses ever since I was twelve years old, in hunting stables, and racing stables; and being small, ye see, I was jockey for several years; but at the Goodwood, ye see, the turf was very slippery and my poor Larkspur got a fall, and I broke my knee, and so of course I was of no more use there.

It was the arm of a Saxon goddess; but no immortal had that exquisite, homely naturalness; and Philip thought of a cottage garden with the dear flowers which bloom in all men's hearts, of the hollyhock and the red and white rose which is called York and Lancaster, and of love--in-a-mist and Sweet William, and honeysuckle, larkspur, and London Pride.