When all things else are desolate at winter time of year;
For though the summer foliage no longer lends its screen,
The earth still wears her uniform of vegetable green.
The Cabbage Rows of England! how gaily they deploy,
With ranks of stout auxiliaries from Brussels and Savoy;
And regiments of native greens, which eloquently speak
Of dishes rich and savoury—of bubble and of squeak!
The Cel’ry Heads of England! how airily they rise,
High up above the trenches, where the root they spring from lies;
Types of the true nobility—bursting by force of worth