The bees on the bells of thyme
........ Were as silent as ever old Timolus was
Listening to my sweet pipings.
Pan’s Music—Shelley.
In my garden grew plenty of thyme,
It would flourish by night and by day,
O’er the wall came a lad, he took all that I had,
And stole my thyme away.
O! And I was a damsel so fair,
But fairer I wished to appear,
So I washed me in milk, and I dressed me in silk,
And put the sweet thyme in my hair.
Devonshire Songs.
Beneath your feet,
Thyme that for all your bruising smells more sweet.
N. Hopper.
Some from the fen bring reeds, wild thyme from downs,
Some from a grove, the bay that poets crowns.
Br. Pastorals, book ii.
Here, dancing feet fall still,
Here, where wild thyme and sea-pinks brave wild weather.