Poems with rhymes of thyme

The bees on the bells of thyme,
The birds on the myrtle-bushes,
The cicale above in the lime,

And all the people culling the sweet prime:
Then issues forth the bee to clutch the thyme,

Out-perfumes the thyme?
What voices enrapture
The night's balmy prime?

Among the springing thyme,
'Oh, peal upon our wedding,
And we will hear the chime,

Surprise the valleys, and wild thyme
Is sweet on every little hill,
When lambs come down at folding time.

And a dawn shall bid me climb to the little spread of thyme
Where first I heard the ripple of the fountain-heads of rhyme.

Lolling on a bank of thyme
Drunk with Spring I made this rhyme. . . .

"O, I've found mushrooms! O look here!" "O, I'm
Quite sure that farther on we'll get wild thyme."

Burn, in the twilight's dewy time,
The mastic, rosemary, and thyme;

From dewy pastures, uplands sweet with thyme,
A virgin breeze freshened the jaded day.
It wafted Collins' lonely vesper-chime,

The sunlit aura breathing myrrh and thyme,
Where the sore-stricken body made a clime

Out-perfumes the thyme?
What voices enrapture
The night's balmy prime?—

Perched in a palm-grove, wild with pantomime,
O'er blissful companies couched in shady thyme,

Where the locust chirps unscared beneath the unpruned lime,
And the merry bee doth hide from man the spoil of the mountain thyme;

Nor the balm that exhales from the odorous thyme;
But the gaseous effusions of chloride of lime,

About a bank of thyme,
Or round the yellow blossoms of
The heavy-scented lime.

As the wild bee loves the thyme,
As the poet loves his rhyme,

As they lowered the casket one inch at a time
It was covered by mud, flowers and thyme.

My dream is to travel there some time
On the green mountains growing thyme

An' sweet is t' scent o' t' thyme;
You can hark to t' bees' saft, dreamy soom
I' t' foxglove bells an' t' lime.