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The sun's meridian disk, and at the back
Enjoy close shelter, wall, or reeds, or hedge
Impervious to the wind. First he bids spread
Dry fern or littered hay, that may imbibe
The ascending damps; then leisurely impose,
And lightly, shaking it with agile hand
From the full fork, the saturated straw.
What longest binds the closest, forms secure
The shapely side, that as it rises takes,
By just degrees, an overhanging breadth,
Sheltering the base with its projected eaves.
The uplifted frame, compact at every joint,
And overlaid with clear translucent glass,
He settles next upon the sloping mount,
Whose sharp declivity shoots off secure
From the dashed pane the deluge as it falls:
He shuts it close, and the first labour ends.
Thrice must the voluble and restless earth
Spin round upon her axle, ere the warmth,
Slow gathering in the midst, through the square mass
Diffused, attain the surface; when, behold!
A pestilent and most corrosive steam,
Like a gross fog Bœotian, rising fast,
And fast condensed upon the dewy sash,
Asks egress; which obtained, the overcharged
And drenched conservatory breathes abroad,
In volumes wheeling slow, the vapour dank,
And purified, rejoices to have lost
Its foul inhabitant. But to assuage
The impatient fervour which it first conceives
Within its reeking bosom, threatening death
To his young hopes, requires discreet delay.
Experience, slow preceptress, teaching oft
The way to glory by miscarriage foul,

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Must prompt him, and admonish how to catch

The auspicious moment, when the tempered heat

Friendly to vital motion, may afford

Soft fomentation, and invite the seed.

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The seed, selected wisely, plump, and smooth,
And glossy, he commits to pots of size
Diminutive, well filled with well-prepared
And fruitful soil, that has been treasured long,
And drunk no moisture from the dripping clouds.
These on the warm and genial earth that hides
The smoking manure, and overspreads it all,
He places lightly, and as time subdues
The rage of fermentation, plunges deep,
In the soft medium, till they stand immersed.
Then rise the tender germs, upstarting quick
And spreading wide their spongy lobes, at first
Pale, wan, and livid, but assuming soon,
If fanned by balmy and nutritious air,
Strained through the friendly mats, a vivid green.
Two leaves produced, two rough indented leaves,
Cautious he pinches from the second stalk

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Indulged in what they wish, they soon supply
Large foliage, overshadowing golden flowers,
Blown on the summit of the apparent fruit.

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These have their sexes; and when summer shines,

The bee transports the fertilizing meal

From flower to flower, and even the breathing air

Wafts the rich prize to its appointed use.

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Not so when winter scowls. Assistant Art
Then acts in Nature's office, brings to pass

The glad espousals, and ensures the crop.

Grudge not, ye rich, (since Luxury must have

His dainties, and the World's more numerous half

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Lives by contriving delicates for you)

Grudge not the cost. Ye little know the cares,

The vigilance, the labour, and the skill,

That day and night are exercised, and hang
Upon the ticklish balance of suspense,

That ye may garnish your profuse regales

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Ten thousand dangers lie in wait to thwart

With summer fruits, brought forth by wintry suns.

The process. Heat and cold, and wind and steam,

Moisture and drought, mice, worms, and swarming flies 555 Minute as dust and numberless, oft work

Dire disappointment that admits no cure,

And which no care can obviate. It were long,
Too long, to tell the expedients and the shifts
Which he that fights a season to severe
Devises, while he guards his tender trust,
And oft at last in vain. The learned and wise,
Sarcastic, would exclaim, and judge the song
Cold as its theme, and like its theme the fruit
Of too much labour, worthless when produced.

Who loves a garden loves a greenhouse too.
Unconscious of a less propitious clime,
There blooms exotic beauty, warm and snug,
While the winds whistle, and the snows descend.
The spiry myrtle with unwithering leaf
Shines there, and flourishes. The golden boast
Of Portugal and Western India there,
The ruddier orange and the paler lime,
Peep through their polished foliage at the storm,
And seem to smile at what they need not fear.
The amomum there with intermingling flowers
And cherries hangs her twigs. Geranium boasts
Her crimson honours; and the spangled beau,
Ficoides, glitters bright the winter long.

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All plants, of every leaf, that can endure

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The winter's frown, if screened from his shrewd bite,

Live there, and prosper. Those Ausonia claims,

Levantine regions these, the Azores send

Their jessamine, her jessamine remote
Caffreia; foreigners from many lands,

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They form one social shade, as if convened

By magic summons of the Orphean lyre.

Yet just arrangement, rarely brought to pass
But by a master's hand, disposing well
The gay diversities of leaf and flower,

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Must lend its aid to illustrate all their charms,
And dress the regular yet various scene.
Plant behind plant aspiring, in the van
The dwarfish, in the rear retired, but still
Sublime above the rest, the statelier stand.

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So once were ranged the sons of ancient Rome,
A noble show! while Roscius trod the stage;
And so, while Garrick, as renowned as he,
The sons of Albion; fearing each to lose
Some note of Nature's music from his lips,
And covetous of Shakespeare's beauty, seen
In every flash of his far-beaming eye.
Nor taste alone and well-contrived display
Suffice to give the marshalled ranks the grace
Of their complete effect. Much yet remains
Unsung, and many cares are yet behind,
And more laborious; cares on which depends
Their vigour, injured soon, not soon restored.
The soil must be renewed, which often washed,
Loses its treasure of salubrious salts,

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And disappoints the roots; the slender roots
Close interwoven, where they meet the vase,
Must smooth be shorn away; the sapless branch
Must fly before the knife; the withered leaf
Must be detached, and where it strews the floor,
Swept with a woman's neatness, breeding else
Contagion, and disseminating death.
Discharge but these kind offices, (and who

Would spare, that loves them, offices like these ?)
Well they reward the toil. The sight is pleased,
The scent regaled, each odoriferous leaf,
Each opening blossom, freely breathes abroad
Its gratitude, and thanks him with its sweets.
So manifold, all pleasing in their kind,

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To no mean hand, and asks the touch of taste.

All healthful, are the employs of rural life,
Reiterated as the wheel of time

Runs round; still ending, and beginning still.
Nor are these all. To deck the shapely knoll,
That softly swelled and gaily dressed appears
A flowery island, from the dark green lawn
Emerging, must be deemed a labour due

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Here also grateful mixture of well matched

And sorted hues (each giving each relief,

And by contrasted beauty shining more)

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Is needful. Strength may wield the ponderous spade,

May turn the clod, and wheel the compost home,

But elegance, chief grace the garden shows,

And most attractive, is the fair result

Of thought, the creature of a polished mind.

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Without it, all is gothic as the scene

To which the insipid citizen resorts

Near yonder heath; where Industry mispent,

But proud of his uncouth ill-chosen task,

Has made a Heaven on earth; with suns and moons

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Of close-rammed stones has charged the encumbered soil,

And fairly laid the zodiac in the dust.

He, therefore, who would see his flowers disposed

Sightly, and in just order, ere he gives

The beds the trusted treasure of their seeds,

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Forecasts the future whole; that when the scene

Shall break into its preconceived display,
Each for itself, and all as with one voice
Conspiring, may attest his bright design.
Nor even then, dismissing as performed
His pleasant work, may he suppose it done.
Few self-supported flowers endure the wind
Uninjured, but expect the upholding aid
Of the smooth-shaven prop, and neatly tied,
Are wedded thus, like beauty to old age,
For interest sake, the living to the dead.
Some clothe the soil that feeds them, far diffused

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