Urban Physic Garden



June 19th, 2011 · No Comments · Medicinal Plants Poetry Project

Faire art thou Marjoram, so faire sweet Marjoram
As nor the sun, nor I have seene more faire,
For in thy bosom sweet flowers are embayde,
And golde more pure then gold doth guilde thy leaves.
Sweet Bees have hiv’d their hony on thy anther,
And Hebe spic’t hir Necter with thy carpel:
About thy pot do all the spiders thronge,
And lay such baites as might entangle ants.
In such a receptacle what heart would not be thrall?
From such sweet Marjoram who would not wish embraces?
At thy fair leaves who wonders not,
What salad dressing despises your touch?
Marjoram, sweet Marjoram, let me count your leaves,
Marjoram, sweet Marjoram, more wonderfull then all these.
Philip Terry
(From Herbarium, a new poetry anthology. Launch and reading 22 July)

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