Lavender Memories

THE LAVENDER VENDoR
By Anne Bunner

In the crowded city, the thronging thoroughfare,
Thro' the chill of winter, a fragrance on the air
Faint and fresh of lavender mocks at memory—
Mocks and murmurs softly, "Dreamer, come with me."
"Lavender, sweet lavender," vendor, you should call,
"Purple, perfumed packages with memories for all."
Lavender, sweet lavender, and tired souls are sent
Drifting down the Dream path to the Country of Content.

Subtle scents of lavender thro' the busy street,
Vague, elusive memories, haunting, haunting sweet.
Stealing soft on perfumed wings thro' the moving mass,
White and tired faces brighten as they pass.'

And the crowded city slowly drifts away,
Hushed the noise and clamor of the busy day.
While for a fleeting second, they who dream are blest
With drowsy dreams of lavender and quiet country rest.
"Lavender, sweet lavender," vendor, you should call,
"Purple, perfumed packages with memories for all."
Lavender, sweet lavender, and tired souls are sent
Drifting down the Dream path to the Country of Content.

LAVENDER
Agnes M. Blundell.
Lavender sheaves, lavender sheaves,
Mauve-blue blossoms and silver leaves;
Flower of memory, stored and dry,
Fainter but sweeter, as years go by.

Lavender flower, lavender flower,
Swayed by the brown bee hour by hour—
Memories old, memories sweet,
Echo of voices and children's feet.

Lavender bush, lavender bloom,
Traced by spice in the night's young gloom;
We are old, grey lavender, you and I,
And our flowers of memory sweet and dry.

LAVENDER
By Edward Robeson Taylor

Of all the lovely names the flowers bear
None softlier beats upon the ear than thine,
Sweet Lavender; while thou in Memory's mine
A jewel art beyond description fair:
How oft our mothers gave thee tenderest care
For thy dear blossoms; what a far-drawn line
Of household fragrancies have borne thy sign;
What precious stuffs have breathed thy
perfume's air!
And I remember on an afternoon
Beholding, as an unexpected boon,
Thy hallowed purple where a Poet lies.
Oh, bloom forever there, nor let abate
The love for him who sang in deathless wise
The clouds adventuring through the Golden
Gate.

Culinary herbs
By Maurice Grenville Kains