The Gard’ner Wi’ His Paidle

When rosy May comes in wi’ flowers,
To deck her gay, green-spreading bowers,
Then busy, busy are his hours,
The Gard’ner wi’ his paidle.

The crystal waters gently fa’,
The merry bards are lovers a’,
The scented breezes round him blaw-
The Gard’ner wi’ his paidle.

When purple morning starts the hare
To steal upon her early fare;
Then thro’ the dews he maunrepair-
The Gard’ner wi’ his paidle.

When day, expiring in the west,
The curtain draws o’Nature’s rest,
He flies to her arms he lo’es the best,
The Gard’ner wi’his paidle.