where the imp is lurking
beside the garden gate
wild garlic plumes of scent
fill the evening air
don’t go down there late

and mind the blood red peony
don’t trust her at all
she’ll lure you with her beauty
and when the pretty daisies come
you won’t hear their call

the garden is a jungle
full of clever traps
to put a bramble in the way
or drag a poor boy off
to troubles and mishaps

regard the summer dog rose
regard the fruiting trees
regard the lovely roses
regard the fountains flow
these are things that please

but when we leave the garden
be sure to hold my hand
I’ll show you where my den is hid
beneath the hawthorn hedge
come with me and be my love
and understand the land