Queen of the Garden

It is set by fields of clover
And sentinelled with trees,
Hosts of sunbeams range it over
'Tis owned by birds and bees.  

Larkspurs, leaning out of places
Where bashful myrtles creep,
Peep at monk-flowers' hooded faces
And poppies gone to sleep.  

There are wild and headstrong briers
And thistle knights and dames,
Bloomless weeds, like jovial friars,
Grasses with ancient names;  

I am queen and lady in it, —
Queen over leaf and flower;
Crowned with sprays of purple spinnet,
I own no higher power.