The foxglove comes into its own, Just as the lupins fade; In roadside verge or garden, Or wild in woodland glade, With tall and purple majesty, Swaying gently in the breeze. On city lot, or country farm, The foxglove rarely fails to please. It has no need of cultivation, And propagates with ease; Its graceful bells allure the bees, Who give them tender approbation.
Some lupins seem to be outlasting some of the foxgloves! Oh well.
Possibly similar theme (verse 1 anyway):