Behold her boil and chop and strain
For us the cabbage all in vain.
She would have dished what most we scout,
But Brussels-sprouts at last are out.
And something else at last is in,
A something green and straight and thin.
Long looked for, long desired, its head
Well raised above its English bed,
It smiles at last and blesses us,
Our garden-grown asparagus!