{"id":253599,"date":"2026-07-13T02:55:08","date_gmt":"2026-07-12T23:55:08","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/1kitap1.com\/en\/a-victorian-posy-edited-by-sheila-pickles\/"},"modified":"2026-07-13T02:55:08","modified_gmt":"2026-07-12T23:55:08","slug":"a-victorian-posy-edited-by-sheila-pickles","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/1kitap1.com\/en\/a-victorian-posy-edited-by-sheila-pickles\/","title":{"rendered":"A Victorian Posy – Edited By Sheila Pickles"},"content":{"rendered":"
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Gardener\u2019s garters, Shepherd\u2019s purse, Bachelor\u2019s buttons, Lady\u2019s smock, And the Lady Hollyhock. Fairy places, fairy things, Fairy woods where the wild bee wings, Tiny trees for tiny dames\u2014 These must all be fairy names! Tiny woods below w’hose boughs Shady fairies weave a house; Tiny tree-tops, rose or thyme, Where the braver fairies climb ! Fair are grown-up people\u2019s trees.<\/p>\n

But the fairest woods are these; Where if I were not so tall, I should live for good and all. Robert Louis Stevenson. i85o-is94 -50- A Flower in a Letter My lonely chamber next the sea Is full of many flowers set free By summer\u2019s earliest duty: Dear friends upon the garden-walk Might stop amid their fondest talk To pull the least in beauty. A thousand flowers\u2014each seeming one That learnt by gazing on the sun To counterfeit his shining; Within whose leaves the holy dew That falls from heaven, has won anew A glory, in declining.<\/p>\n

-52- Red roses, used to praises long, Contented with the poet\u2019s song, The nightingale\u2019s being over; And lilies white, prepared to touch The whitest thought, nor soil it much, Of dreamer turned to lover. Deep violets, you liken to The kindest eyes that look on you, Without a thought disloyal; And cactuses a queen might don, If weary of a golden crown, And still appear as royal.<\/p>\n

Pansies for ladies all\u2014(I wis That none who wear such brooches, miss A jewel in the mirror) ; And tulips, children love to stretch Their fingers down, to feel in each Its beauty\u2019s secret nearer. Love\u2019s language may be talked with these; To work out choicest sentences No blossoms can be meeter; And, such being used in Eastern bowers, Young maids may wonder if the flowers Or meanings be the sweeter.<\/p>\n

Elizabeth Barrett Browning, 18O6-1861 -53- Women and Roses I dream of a red-rose tree. And which of its roses three Is the dearest rose to me ? Round and round, like a dance of snow In a dazzling drift, as its guardians, go Floating the women faded for ages, Sculptured in stone, on the poet\u2019s pages. Then follow women fresh and gay, Living and loving and loved to-dav.<\/p>\n

Last, in the rear, flee the multitude of maidens. Beauties yet unborn. And all, to one cadence, They circle their rose on my rose tree. \u201454\u2014 Robert Browning. 1812-1889 -55- There is Nothing Held so Dear There is nothing held so dear As love, if only it be hard to win. The roses that in yonder hedge appear Outdo our garden-buds which bloom within ; But since the hand may pluck them every day, Unmarked they bud, bloom, drop, and drift away.<\/p>\n

Jean Ingelow. 1820-1897 I 2 i I! The maiden T’ ess went down the hill to Trantridge Cross, and inattentively waited to take her seat in the van returning from Chaseborough to Shaston.<\/p>\n

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My love of scent, of flowers and of poetry has meant that the selection of these floral passages has been a pleasure. I have tried to include some old favourites so there will be something familiar within these leaves for everyone. I have also been careful to include those whose attitudes embodied the Victorian spirit, such as Browning and Hardy, whilst excluding those with more contempor\u00ac ary attitudes, like Vita Sackville-West, even though she was born a Victorian.<\/p>\n

I was surprised to find how many Victorian writers personified flowers as children or faeries, and I came to realise that flowers, like scent, are most evocative. They recall in my case the happiest of childhoods; long sunny days playing Hide and Seek in the herbaceous borders or curled up in the hammock with a book. It is from my parents that I have inherited a love of flowers, and the piece written by Mrs. C. W. Earle about the Chrysanthe\u00ac mum Shows is included as a tribute to my father, whose beloved blooms brought home prizes each year from the local flower show but were equally difficult to arrange on account of their size.<\/p>\n

It is from my grandmother that I have inherited a love of poetry, and it is from her tiny leather-bound poetry books that I made my choice. This selection would not have been complete, however, without a piece from Tess of the d\u2019Urbervilles, a book read in class at school, where we were taught with such enthusiasm that my school-friends and I have retained our love for the written word to the present day.<\/p>\n

I would like to acknowledge my family, who were largely ignored during the preparation of the book, those friends wdio allowed me to raid their libraries, and the creative team who helped me to put the book together. I hope it will give you many hours of pleasure. Sheila Pickles Spring \u201cAnd in green underwood and cover Blossom by blossom the spring begins\u201d 9 Chorus from\u2018Atalanta\u2019 For winter\u2019s rains and ruins are over, And all the season of snows and sins; The days dividing lover and lover, The light that loses, the night that wins; And time remembered is grief forgotten, And frosts are slain, and flowers begotten, And in green underwood and cover Blossom by blossom the spring begins.<\/p>\n

Algernon Charles Swinburne, 1837-1909 -10- the Snowdrop You ask why Spring\u2019s fair first-born flower is white Peering from out the warm earth long ago, It saw above its head great drifts of snow, And blanched with fright. Clinton Scollard.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n

This is a short excerpt from the opening of “” by Unknown, quoted for review and introduction purposes. All rights belong to the copyright holders.<\/em><\/p>\n

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