diff options
| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-14 20:10:18 -0700 |
|---|---|---|
| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-14 20:10:18 -0700 |
| commit | 9ca1ccf1cc8ee4b8cf1ca900753e3240aaf55528 (patch) | |
| tree | c09773110969aa804e01e38def9da81b841331d3 | |
| -rw-r--r-- | .gitattributes | 3 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 38438-8.txt | 10342 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 38438-8.zip | bin | 0 -> 122538 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 38438-h.zip | bin | 0 -> 164172 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 38438-h/38438-h.htm | 11091 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 38438-h/images/titledec.png | bin | 0 -> 22336 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 38438.txt | 10342 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 38438.zip | bin | 0 -> 122455 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | LICENSE.txt | 11 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | README.md | 2 |
10 files changed, 31791 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/38438-8.txt b/38438-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ced94ef --- /dev/null +++ b/38438-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,10342 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Melody of Earth, by Various + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Melody of Earth + An Anthology of Garden and Nature Poems From Present-Day Poets + +Author: Various + +Release Date: December 30, 2011 [EBook #38438] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MELODY OF EARTH *** + + + + +Produced by Charlene Taylor, JoAnn Greenwood, and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net +(This file was produced from images generously made +available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + + + + + + + + + THE MELODY OF + EARTH + + AN ANTHOLOGY + OF GARDEN AND NATURE POEMS + FROM PRESENT-DAY POETS + + SELECTED + AND ARRANGED BY + MRS. WALDO RICHARDS + + [Illustration] + + BOSTON AND NEW YORK + HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY + 1918 + + + + + COPYRIGHT, 1918, BY GERTRUDE MOORE RICHARDS + ALL RIGHTS RESERVED + + _Published March 1918_ + + + + + TO + MY DEAR SISTER + A LOVER OF GARDENS + + + + +FOREWORD + + +How many of us are conscious of the subtle melodies, "through which the +myriad lispings of the earth find perfect speech"? + +Our poets are listeners; their ears are tuned to the magic call of +secret voices that we who are not singers may never hear. They capture +the "Melody" in chalices of song, and their message is: that whosoever +will bend his ear to earth, may hear from field and furrow, from the +many-bladed grass and the soft-petalled flowers--in the soughing of the +pine tree or the rustle of leaves--an immortal music that revivifies the +soul. + +In the quiet tilled spots of earth, from time immemorial, men have sown +rare seeds of poetic thought that have flowered into song. Amiel wrote +in his _Journal_: "All seed-sowing is a mysterious thing whether the +seed fall into earth or into souls; man is a husbandman, and his work +rightly understood is to develop life, to sow it everywhere." The poets +are our seed-sowers, and _their_ work is to develop life and to enrich +it. They are never happier than when writing about gardens and the +growing things of earth--at once their symbol and their solace. In turn +gardens have in the poets their happiest interpreters. + +Here I have culled and gathered together songs and poems that reflect +the melody and harmony of Nature's forces. In these days of the world's +travail, let us seek inspiration and content within the delightful +confines of these Gardens of Poetry. + + GERTRUDE MOORE RICHARDS + + _March_, 1918 + + + + +ACKNOWLEDGMENTS + + +Mrs. Richards tenders her sincere thanks to the publishers and poets who +have so generously accorded their permission to use copyrighted poems: + +To the American Tract Society for "Seeds" and "The Philosopher's +Garden," John Oxenham, from _Bees in Amber_. + +To Messrs. D. Appleton & Co. for "The Mocking-Bird," Frank L. Stanton, +from _Songs of the Soil_. + +To the Baker & Taylor Co. for "June Rapture" and "The Rose," Angela +Morgan, from _The Hour has Struck, and Other Poems_ and _Utterance, and +Other Poems_. + +To The Biddle Press for "The Old-fashioned Garden" and "Poppies," John +Russell Hayes, from _Collected Poems_. + +To the Bobbs-Merrill Company for "Thoughts fer the Discuraged Farmer," +James Whitcomb Riley, from _Complete Works_. + +To Edmund A. Brooks, Minneapolis, for "Daffodils" and "From a +Car-Window," Ruth Guthrie Harding, from _The Lark went Singing, and +Other Poems_. + +To Messrs. Burns & Oates and to Alice Meynell (Mrs. Wilfrid Meynell) for +"To a Daisy" and "The Garden" from _Collected Poems_; for "Rosa +Mystica," Katharine Tynan (Mrs. Henry Albert Hinkson), from _The Flower +of Peace_. + +To The Century Co. for "Larkspur," James Oppenheim, from _War and +Laughter_; for "The Tilling," Cale Young Rice, from _Trails Sunward_; +for "The Haunted Garden," Louis Untermeyer, from _Challenge_. + +To Messrs. Constable & Co. for "For These," Edward Thomas (Edward +Eastaway), from _An Annual of New Poetry_. + +To _Country Life_ (London) and to Mrs. Gurney personally for "The Lord +God planted a Garden" and "A Garden in Venice," by Dorothy Frances +Gurney, from _Poems_. + +To Messrs. Thomas Y. Crowell Company for "Love planted a Rose," +Katharine Lee Bates, from _America, and Other Poems_; for "An Exile's +Garden," Sophie Jewett, from _Collected Poems_. + +To Messrs. J. M. Dent & Sons for "The Spring Beauties," Helen Gray Cone, +from _The Chant of Love, and Other Poems_. + +To Messrs. Dodd, Mead & Co. for "In a Garden," Livingston L. Biddle, +from _The Understanding Hills_. + +To Messrs. George H. Doran Company for "The Cricket in the Path," "Herb +of Grace," and "Rain in the Night," Amelia Josephine Burr, from _In Deep +Places_ and _Life and Living_; for "A Song in a Garden," "Shade," and +"The Poplars," Theodosia Garrison, from _The Dreamers, and Other Poems_; +for "Trees," Joyce Kilmer, from _Trees, and Other Poems_; for "June," +Douglas Malloch, from _The Woods_; for "Where Love is Life," Duncan +Campbell Scott, from "The Three Songs" in _Lundy's Lane, and Other +Poems_. + +To Messrs. Doubleday, Page & Co. for "A Prayer," "The Butterfly," and +"Before Mary of Magdala came," Edwin Markham, from _The Man with the +Hoe, and Other Poems_ and _The Shoes of Happiness, and Other Poems_. + +To Messrs. Duffield & Co. for "The sweet caresses that I gave to you," +Elsa Barker, from _The Book of Love_; for "What heart but fears a +fragrance?" ("Zauber Duft"), Martha Gilbert Dickinson Bianchi, from +_Gabrielle, and Other Poems_; for "Spring," Francis Ledwidge, from +_Songs of the Fields_; for "The White Peacock," William Sharp, from +_Songs and Poems_. + +To Messrs. E. P. Dutton & Co. for "The South Wind," Siegfried Sassoon, +from _The Old Huntsman, and Other Poems_; for "The Tree," Evelyn +Underhill, from _Theophanies_. + +To Messrs. H. W. Fisher & Co. for "A Dream," "The Autumn Rose," +"Fireflies," and "An Evening in Old Japan," Antoinette De Coursey +Patterson, from _Sonnets and Quatrains_ and _The Son of Merope, and +Other Poems_. + +To Messrs. Harper & Brothers for "Roses in the Subway," Dana Burnet, +from _Poems_; for "The Wild Rose," and "If I were a Fairy," Charles +Buxton Going, from _Star-Glow and Song_; for "The Cardinal-Bird," Arthur +Guiterman, from _The Laughing Muse_; for "Wild Gardens," Ada Foster +Murray, from _Flowers of the Grass_; for "The Message," Helen Hay +Whitney, from _Sonnets and Songs_. + +To Hearst's International Library Company for "Stairways and Gardens" +and "My Flower-Room," Ella Wheeler Wilcox, from _World Voices_. + +To Mr. William Heinemann for "The Cactus," Laurence Hope, from _Stars of +the Desert_; for "The July Garden," R. E. Vernède, from _War Poems, and +Other Verses_; for "A Garden-Piece," Edmund Gosse, from _Collected +Poems_. + +To Messrs. Henry Holt & Co. for "The Cloister Garden at Certosa," +Richard Burton, from _Poems of Earth's Meaning_; for "The Furrow," +Padraic Colum, from _Wild Earth, and Other Poems_; for "The Three Cherry +Trees," Walter de la Mare, from _The Listeners, and Other Poems_; for "A +Late Walk," "Asking for Roses," "The Pasture," and "Putting in the +Seed," Robert Frost, from _A Boy's Will_, _North of Boston_, and _A +Mountain Interval_; for "Joe-Pyeweed," Louis Untermeyer, from _These +Times_. + +To Messrs. Houghton Mifflin Company for "The Blooming of the Rose" and +the selection from "Under the Trees," Anna Hempstead Branch, from _The +Heart of the Road_ and _The Shoes that Danced, and Other Poems_; for +"Spring Patchwork" and "The Flowerphone," Abbie Farwell Brown, from _A +Pocketful of Posies_ and _Songs of Sixpence_; for "The Morning-Glory" +and "Jewel-Weed," Florence Earle Coates, from _Collected Poems_; for +"Nightingales" and "A Breath of Mint," Grace Hazard Conkling, from +_Afternoons of April_; for "The Golden-Rod," Margaret Deland, from _The +Old Garden, and Other Verses_; for "A Roman Garden," Florence Wilkinson +Evans, from _The Ride Home_; for "Cobwebs," Louise Imogen Guiney, from +_Happy Ending_; for "Planting," Robert Livingston, from _Murrer and Me_; +for "Primavera," George Cabot Lodge, from _Poems and Dramas_; for "Ever +the Same," "Charm: To be said in the Sun," and "But we did walk in +Eden," Josephine Preston Peabody, from _The Singing Leaves_ and _The +Singing Man_; for "At Isola Bella" ("A White Peacock"), Jessie B. +Rittenhouse, from _The Door of Dreams_; for "The Goldfinch," Odell +Shepard, from _A Lonely Flute_; for "Daisies" and "Witchery," Frank +Dempster Sherman, from _Poems_; for "Grandmother's Gathering Boneset," +Edith M. Thomas, from _In Sunshine Land_. + +To Mr. B. W. Huebsch for "Song from 'April,'" Irene Rutherford McLeod, +from _Songs to Save a Soul_. + +To Messrs. George W. Jacobs & Co. for "Vestured and veiled with +twilight," Rosamund Marriott Watson, from _The Heart of a Garden_. + +To Mr. R. U. Johnson (publisher) for "Como in April," Robert Underwood +Johnson, from _Collected Poems_. + +To Mr. Mitchell Kennerley for "A Song to Belinda," Theodosia Garrison, +from _Earth Cry_; for "In a Garden," Horace Holley, from _Divinations +and Creations_; for "Afternoon on a Hill," "The End of Summer," and "A +Little Ghost," Edna St. Vincent Millay, from _Renascence, and Other +Poems_; for "Welcome," John Curtis Underwood, from _Processionals_; for +"Ære Perennius," Charles Hanson Towne, from _A Quiet Singer_. + +To Mr. Alfred A. Knopf for "The Rain" and "The Ways of Time," William H. +Davies, from _Collected Poems_. + +To The John Lane Company (New York) for "Loveliest of Trees," A. E. +Housman, from _A Shropshire Lad_; for "May is building her House," and +"I meant to do my work to-day," Richard Le Gallienne, from _The Lonely +Dancer_; for "The Joy of the Springtime," and "The Time of Roses," +Sarojini Naidu, from _The Bird of Time_ and _The Broken Wing_; for +"Heart's Garden," Norreys Jephson O'Conor, from _Celtic Memories_; for +"Serenade," Marjorie L. C. Pickthall, from _The Lamp of Poor Souls_; for +"There is Strength in the Soil," Arthur Stringer, from _Open Water_; for +"Midsummer blooms within our quiet garden ways," "It was June in the +garden," and "Within the garden there is healthfulness," Emile +Verhaeren, from _The Sunlit Hours_ and _Afternoon_; for "In a Garden of +Granada," Thomas Walsh, from _Gardens Overseas_; for "The Garden of +Mnemosyne," Rosamund Marriott Watson, from _Collected Poems_; for +"Eden-Hunger," William Watson, from _Retrogression, and Other Poems_; +for "Spring Planting," Helen Hay Whitney, from _Herbs and Apples_. + +To Messrs. Little, Brown & Co. for "To a Weed," Gertrude Hall, from _The +Age of Fairy Gold_; for "The Green o' the Spring," Denis A. McCarthy, +from _Voices from Erin_; for "The Baby's Valentine," Laura E. Richards, +from _In my Nursery_. + +To Messrs. Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Company for "God's Garden," Richard +Burton, from _Dumb in June_. + +To Mr. David McKay for "The Blossomy Barrow" and "Da Thief," Thomas +Augustine Daly, from _Madrigali_; for "A Soft Day," W. M. Letts, from +_Songs from Leinster_. + +To The Macmillan Company for "Old Homes," Madison Cawein, from _Poems_; +for "Up a Hill and a Hill," Fannie Stearns Davis, from _Myself and I_; +for "In the Womb," A. E. (George William Russell), from _Collected +Poems_; for "To the Sweetwilliam," Norman Gale, from _Collected Poems_; +for "Roses," Wilfrid Wilson Gibson, from _Battle, and Other Poems_; for +"Rest at Noon" and "The Hummingbird," Hermann Hagedorn, from _Poems and +Ballads_; for "The Mystery," Ralph Hodgson, from _Poems_; for "The +Dandelion" and "With a Rose, to Brunhilde," Vachel Lindsay, from +_General William Booth enters into Heaven, and Other Poems_ and _A Handy +Guide for Beggars_; for "A Tulip Garden," "Fringed Gentians," and "The +Fruit Garden Path," Amy Lowell, from _Sword Blades and Poppy Seed_ and +_The Dome of Many-coloured Glass_; for "It may be so: but let the +unknown be" and "Drop me the Seed," John Masefield, from _Lollingdon +Downs, and Other Poems_; for "Samuel Gardner," Edgar Lee Masters, from +_The Spoon River Anthology_; for "Go down to Kew in lilac-time" +(selection from "The Barrel-Organ"), Alfred Noyes, from _Poems_; for +"The Messenger," James Stephens, from _Songs from the Clay_; for "The +Champa Flower" and "The Flower-School," Rabindranath Tagore, from _The +Crescent Moon_; for "Indian Summer," "Alchemy," "The Fountain," +"Barter," and "Wood Song," Sara Teasdale, from _Rivers to the Sea_ and +_Love Songs_; for "The Message," George Edward Woodberry, from _Poems_; +for "The Song of Wandering Aengus," W. B. Yeats, from _Poems_. + +To Mr. Elkin Mathews and to Mr. Rowland Thirlmere personally for "A +Shower," from _Polyclitus, and Other Poems_. + +To the Manas Press, Rochester, N.Y., for "November Night" and "Arbutus," +Adelaide Crapsey, from _Verses_. + +To Messrs. John P. Morton & Co., Louisville, Ky., for "Conscience," +Margaret Steele Anderson, from _The Flame in the Wind_. + +To Mr. Thomas Bird Mosher for "Beyond," "As in a Rose-Jar," and "My soul +is like a garden-close," Thomas S. Jones, Jr., from _The Voice in the +Silence_ and _The Rose-Jar_; for "A Seller of Herbs," "The Garden at +Bemerton," and "April Weather," Lizette Woodworth Reese, from _A Handful +of Lavender_; for "Frost To-night," Edith M. Thomas, from _The Flower +from the Ashes_; for "In an Oxford Garden" and "Old Gardens," Arthur +Upson, from _Octaves in an Oxford Garden_ and _Collected Poems_. + +To Messrs. G. P. Putnam's Sons for "In an Old Garden," Madison Cawein, +from _Moods and Melodies_; for "If I could dig like a Rabbit," Rose +Strong Hubbell, from _If I could Fly_; for "The Anxious Farmer," Burges +Johnson, from _Rhymes of Home_; for "In an August Garden," "Amiel's +Garden," and "The Garden," Gertrude Huntington McGiffert, from _A +Florentine Cycle_. + +To The Reilly & Britton Co. for "Results and Roses," Edgar A. Guest, +from _Heap o' Livin'_. + +To Mr. Grant Richards for "Loveliest of Trees," A. E. Housman, from _A +Shropshire Lad_. + +To Mr. A. M. Robertson (San Francisco) for "How many flowers are gently +met," George Sterling, from _The Testimony of the Sun, and Other Poems_. + +To Messrs. Charles Scribner's Sons for "Miracle," L. H. Bailey, from +_Wind and Weather_; for "Four O'Clocks" and "Homesick," Julia C. R. +Dorr, from _Poems and Last Poems_; for "Tell-Tale," Oliver Herford, +from _Overheard in a Garden_; for "In the Garden" and "The Deserted +Garden," Pai Ta-Shun (Frederick Peterson), from _Chinese Lyrics_ (Kelly +& Walsh, Hongkong); for "The Child in the Garden," Henry van Dyke, from +_Collected Poems_. + +To Messrs. Sherman, French & Co. for "The Trees," Samuel Valentine Cole, +from _The Great Gray King, and Other Poems_; for "Her Garden," Eldredge +Denison, from _Ballads and Lyrics_; for "Moth-Flowers," Jeanne Robert +Foster, from _Wild Apples_; for "The Little God," Katharine Howard, from +_The Little God, and Other Poems_; for "Cloud and Flower," Agnes Lee, +from _The Sharing, and Other Poems_; for "The Dials" and "The Secret," +Arthur Wallace Peach, from _The Hill Trails_; for "A Garden Prayer" and +"In Memory's Garden," Thomas Walsh, from _The Prison Ships, and Other +Poems_; for "Prayer" and "With memories and odors," John Hall Wheelock, +from _Love and Liberation_. + +To Messrs. Sidgwick & Jackson for "A Song of Fairies," by Elizabeth +Kirby, from _The Bridegroom_. + +To Messrs. Small, Maynard & Co. for "Trees," "The Garden of Dreams," and +"An April Morning," Bliss Carman, from _April Airs_; for "The Whisper of +Earth," Edward J. O'Brien, from _White Fountains_; for "The Dews" and +"Clover," John Banister Tabb, from _Lyrics_. + +To Messrs. Stewart & Kidd Company, Cincinnati, for "The Golden Bowl," +Mary McMillan, from _The Little Golden Fountain, and Other Poems_. + +To Messrs. Frederick A. Stokes Company for "A Mocking-Bird" and "The +Early Gods," Witter Bynner, from _Grenstone Poems_; for "The Proud +Vegetables" and "Iris Flowers," Mary McNeil Fenollosa, from _Blossoms +from a Japanese Garden_. + +To Mr. T. Fisher Unwin for "Autumnal," Richard Middleton, from _Poems +and Songs_. + +To Messrs. James T. White & Co. for "Flowers of June," James Terry +White, from _A Garden of Remembrance_; for "Song of the Weary Traveller," +Blanche Shoemaker Wagstaff, from _Narcissus, and Other Poems_. + +To the _Atlantic Monthly_ for "April Rain," Conrad Aiken; for "Yellow +Warblers," Katharine Lee Bates; for "Safe," Robert Haven Schauffler; for +"The Lilies," George Edward Woodberry. + +To the _Century Magazine_ for "Order," Paul Scott Mowrer. + +To the _Christian Science Monitor_ for "Family Trees," Douglas Malloch. + +To the _Churchman_ for "The Faithless Flowers," Margaret Widdemer. + +To _Contemporary Verse_ for "The Road to the Pool," Grace Hazard +Conkling; for "The Night-Moth," Marion Couthouy Smith. + +To the _Craftsman_ for "The Scissors-Man," Grace Hazard Conkling. + +To the _Delineator_ for "In my Mother's Garden," Margaret Widdemer. + +To _Everybody's Magazine_ for "Years Afterward," Nancy Byrd Turner. + +To _Harper's Monthly Magazine_ for "Progress," Charlotte Becker; for +"Oh, tell me how my garden grows," Mildred Howells; for "A Song for +Winter," Mrs. Schuyler Van Rensselaer. + +To the _Independent_ for "Blind," Harry Kemp; for "The Dusty +Hour-Glass," Amy Lowell; for "A Midsummer Garden," Clinton Scollard. + +To the _Los Angeles Graphic_ for "A White Iris," Pauline B. Barrington. + +To _Lyric_ for "July Midnight," Amy Lowell. + +To _Munsey's Magazine_ for "A Puritan Lady's Garden," Sarah N. Cleghorn; +for "Spring Song," William Griffith; for "The Fountain," Harry Kemp. + +To _Mushrooms_, published by The John Marshall Company, for "Idealists," +Alfred Kreymborg. + +To _Others: A Magazine of New Verse_ for "Reflections" ("Chinoiseries"), +Amy Lowell; for "Lord, I ask a Garden," R. Arevalo Martinez. + +To the _New York Sun_ for "A Colonial Garden," James B. Kenyon. + +To the _New York Times_ for "Grace for Gardens," Louise Driscoll; for +"The Welcome," Arthur Powell. + +To _Poetry: A Magazine of Verse_ for "Spring Song," Hilda Conkling; for +"A Lady of the Snows," Harriet Monroe; for "The Magnolia," José Santos +Chocano, translated by John Pierrepont Rice. + +To _Punch_ for "Lavender," W. W. Blair Fish. + +To _St. Nicholas_ for "Velvets," Hilda Conkling; for "When Swallows +Build," Catherine Parmenter. + +To _Scribner's Magazine_ for "Her Garden," Louis Dodge; for "The Path +that leads to Nowhere," Corinne Roosevelt Robinson. + +To the _Touchstone_ for "Dawn in my Garden," Marguerite Wilkinson. + +To the _Yale Review_ and to Mr. Brian Hooker personally for "Ballade of +the Dreamland Rose" from _Poems_; also to the _Yale Review_ for the +selection from "Earth," John Hall Wheelock. + + * * * * * + +Personal acknowledgment is also made to the following poets and +individual owners of copyrights:-- + +To Miss Zoë Akins for "The Snow-Gardens." + +To Mr. William Stanley Braithwaite and to Mr. Fletcher personally for +"Spring," John Gould Fletcher, printed in the _Poetry Review_. + +To M. G. Brereton for "The Old Brocade" from _A Celtic Christmas_. + +To Miss Abbie Farwell Brown for "The Wall" in manuscript. + +To Mrs. Grace Hazard Conkling for "The Rose" in manuscript. + +To Mr. Miles M. Dawson for "The Thistle" from _Songs of the New Time_. + +To Violet Fane (Lady Curie) for "To a New Sun-Dial" from _Collected +Poems_. + +To Mrs. Mary McNeil Fenollosa for "Birth of the Flowers." + +To Mr. Arthur Guiterman for "Tulips" and "Columbines" in manuscript. + +To Miss Mary R. Jewett for "Flowers in the Dark," Sarah Orne Jewett, +from _Verses_ (privately printed). + +To Rev. Arthur Ketchum for "The Spirit of the Birch" in manuscript. + +To Miss Hannah Parker Kimball for "Sun, Cardinal, and Corn Flowers" from +_Soul and Sense_. + +To Mr. William Lindsey for "Two Roses" from _Apples of Istakhar_. + +To Catherine Markham (Mrs. Edwin Markham) for "A Garden Friend." + +To Mr. Lloyd Mifflin for "Draw closer, O ye Trees" from _The Flying +Nymph, and Other Verse_. + +To Miss Angela Morgan for "The Awakening" in manuscript. + +To E. Nesbit (Mrs. Hubert Bland) for "Baby Seed Song." + +To Mr. Shaemas O Sheel for "While April Rain went by" from _The Light +Feet of Goats_ (The Franklin Press). + +To Mr. Clinton Scollard for "The Crocus Flame," and "Sunflowers," from +_Ballads Patriotic and Romantic_; for "In the Garden-Close at Mezra" and +"In an Egyptian Garden" from _The Lutes of Morn_. + +To Mrs. Emily Selinger for "Over the Garden Wall." + +To Mrs. May Riley Smith for "Sorrow in a Garden" in manuscript. + +To the estate of Frank L. Stanton for "Sweetheart-Lady." + +To Mr. Charles Wharton Stork for "Boulders" in manuscript, and for +"Color Notes," printed in _Lippincott's Magazine_. + +To Mr. Charles Hanson Towne for "A White Rose." + +To Katharine Tynan (Mrs. Henry Albert Hinkson) for "The Choice," +published by Messrs. Sidgwick & Jackson in _The Poems of To-day_, an +anthology. + +To Mr. Frederic A. Whiting for his own poems "A Rose Lover" and "A +Wonder Garden" in manuscript and for "Kinfolk" by Kate Whiting Patch. + +To Mr. Clement Wood for "Rose-Geranium" from _Glad of Earth_. + +To Mr. Henry A. Wise Wood for "The Joy of a Summer Day." + + +NOTE + +With very few exceptions only the poets who are writing to-day, or who +have written within a period of ten years, are represented in this +collection; and certain favorite poems peculiarly suited to the spirit +of this book which chanced to be included in _High Tide_ may be missed +here. G. M. R. + + + + +CONTENTS + + + WITHIN GARDEN WALLS + + Earth _John Hall Wheelock_ 2 + + The Furrow _Padraic Colum_ 3 + + "There is strength in the soil" _Arthur Stringer_ 4 + + In the Womb "_A. E._" 4 + + Putting in the Seed _Robert Frost_ 5 + + The Whisper of Earth _Edward J. O'Brien_ 6 + + "Within the garden there is healthfulness" _Emile Verhaeren_ 6 + + In a Garden _Horace Holley_ 7 + + A Shower _Rowland Thirlmere_ 8 + + The Rain _William H. Davies_ 9 + + The Dews _John B. Tabb_ 9 + + Sonnet _John Masefield_ 10 + + Charm: To be said in the Sun _Josephine Preston Peabody_ 11 + + The Dials _Arthur Wallace Peach_ 12 + + To a New Sundial _Violet Fane_ 13 + + The Fountain _Harry Kemp_ 14 + + + THE PAGEANTRY OF GARDENS + + The Birth of the Flowers _Mary McNeil Fenollosa_ 18 + + The Welcome _Arthur Powell_ 19 + + The Joy of the Springtime _Sarojini Naidu_ 20 + + Spring _John Gould Fletcher_ 20 + + Primavera _George Cabot Lodge_ 21 + + The Green o' the Spring _Denis A. McCarthy_ 22 + + An April Morning _Bliss Carman_ 23 + + "With memories and odors" _John Hall Wheelock_ 24 + + April Rain _Conrad Aiken_ 25 + + While April Rain went by _Shaemas O Sheel_ 25 + + Spring _Francis Ledwidge_ 26 + + April Weather _Lizette Woodworth Reese_ 27 + + Daffodils _Ruth Guthrie Harding_ 28 + + The Crocus Flame _Clinton Scollard_ 28 + + The Early Gods _Witter Bynner_ 30 + + A Tulip Garden _Amy Lowell_ 30 + + Tulips _Arthur Guiterman_ 31 + + A White Iris _Pauline B. Barrington_ 32 + + May is building her House _Richard Le Gallienne_ 33 + + The Magnolia _José Santos Chocano_ 34 + + "Go down to Kew in lilac-time" _Alfred Noyes_ 35 + + Beyond _Thomas S. Jones, Jr._ 36 + + June _Douglas Malloch_ 36 + + June Rapture _Angela Morgan_ 37 + + Columbines _Arthur Guiterman_ 39 + + The Morning-Glory _Florence Earle Coates_ 40 + + The Blossomy Barrow _T. A. Daly_ 40 + + Larkspur _James Oppenheim_ 42 + + The July Garden _Robert Ernest Vernède_ 43 + + "Mid-summer blooms within our quiet garden-ways" + _Emile Verhaeren_ 44 + + Poppies _John Russell Hayes_ 45 + + The Garden in August _Gertrude Huntington McGiffert_ 46 + + Sun, Cardinal, and Corn Flowers _Hannah Parker Kimball_ 48 + + Sunflowers _Clinton Scollard_ 48 + + The End of Summer _Edna St. Vincent Millay_ 49 + + A Late Walk _Robert Frost_ 50 + + Color Notes _Charles Wharton Stork_ 50 + + The Golden Bowl _Mary McMillan_ 51 + + The Autumn Rose _Antoinette De Coursey Patterson_ 52 + + Indian Summer _Sara Teasdale_ 53 + + "Frost to-night" _Edith M. Thomas_ 54 + + November Night _Adelaide Crapsey_ 55 + + The Snow-Gardens _Zoë Akins_ 55 + + A Song for Winter _Mrs. Schuyler Van Rensselaer_ 57 + + + WINGS AND SONG + + "I meant to do my work to-day" _Richard Le Gallienne_ 60 + + The Hummingbird _Hermann Hagedorn_ 61 + + Spring Song _William Griffith_ 62 + + Nightingales _Grace Hazard Conkling_ 63 + + The Goldfinch _Odell Shepard_ 63 + + Kinfolk _Kate Whiting Patch_ 65 + + A Mocking-Bird _Witter Bynner_ 65 + + The Cardinal-Bird _Arthur Guiterman_ 66 + + Yellow Warblers _Katharine Lee Bates_ 67 + + Witchery _Frank Dempster Sherman_ 68 + + The Spring Beauties _Helen Gray Cone_ 68 + + The Mocking-Bird _Frank L. Stanton_ 69 + + The Messenger _James Stephens_ 71 + + Fireflies _Antoinette De Coursey Patterson_ 72 + + July Midnight _Amy Lowell_ 72 + + The Cricket in the Path _Amelia Josephine Burr_ 73 + + Rest at Noon _Hermann Hagedorn_ 74 + + Order _Paul Scott Mowrer_ 75 + + The Night-Moth _Marion Couthouy Smith_ 75 + + The Butterfly _Edwin Markham_ 76 + + The Secret _Arthur Wallace Peach_ 77 + + + THE GARDENS OF YESTERDAY + + The Garden _Gertrude Huntington McGiffert_ 80 + + Old Homes _Madison Cawein_ 81 + + A Puritan Lady's Garden _Sarah N. Cleghorn_ 82 + + The Old-fashioned Garden _John Russell Hayes_ 83 + + A Colonial Garden _James B. Kenyon_ 86 + + In my Mother's Garden _Margaret Widdemer_ 87 + + To the Sweetwilliam _Norman Gale_ 88 + + Rose-Geranium _Clement Wood_ 90 + + Four O'Clocks _Julia C. R. Dorr_ 91 + + Asking for Roses _Robert Frost_ 92 + + The Old Brocade _M. G. Brereton_ 93 + + Stairways and Gardens _Ella Wheeler Wilcox_ 94 + + Old Mothers _Charles Ross_ 95 + + + PASTURES AND HILLSIDES + + Song from "April" _Irene Rutherford McLeod_ 98 + + The Road to the Pool _Grace Hazard Conkling_ 99 + + The Wild Rose _Charles Buxton Going_ 99 + + Up a Hill and a Hill _Fannie Stearns Davis_ 100 + + The Joys of a Summer Morning _Henry A. Wise Wood_ 101 + + South Wind _Siegfried Sassoon_ 102 + + To a Weed _Gertrude Hall_ 102 + + The Pasture _Robert Frost_ 104 + + The Thistle _Miles M. Dawson_ 104 + + Clover _John B. Tabb_ 105 + + Wild Gardens _Ada Foster Murray_ 106 + + The Dandelion _Vachel Lindsay_ 107 + + Joe-Pyeweed _Louis Untermeyer_ 108 + + To a Daisy _Alice Meynell_ 109 + + A Soft Day _W. M. Letts_ 110 + + Arbutus _Adelaide Crapsey_ 111 + + Jewel-Weed _Florence Earle Coates_ 111 + + The Wall _Abbie Farwell Brown_ 112 + + Boulders _Charles Wharton Stork_ 114 + + Afternoon on a Hill _Edna St. Vincent Millay_ 115 + + The Golden-Rod _Margaret Deland_ 116 + + The Path that leads to Nowhere _Corinne Roosevelt Robinson_ 117 + + + LOVERS AND ROSES + + The Message _George Edward Woodberry_ 120 + + "Where love is life" _Duncan Campbell Scott_ 121 + + The Time of Roses _Sarojini Naidu_ 122 + + Love planted a Rose _Katharine Lee Bates_ 123 + + The Garden _Alice Meynell_ 123 + + Cloud and Flower _Agnes Lee_ 124 + + Progress _Charlotte Becker_ 125 + + "But we did walk in Eden" _Josephine Preston Peabody_ 125 + + A Garden-Piece _Edmund Gosse_ 126 + + "How many flowers are gently met" _George Sterling_ 127 + + With a Rose, to Brunhilde _Vachel Lindsay_ 127 + + "My soul is like a garden-close" _Thomas S. Jones, Jr._ 128 + + A Dream _Antoinette De Coursey Patterson_ 129 + + The Rose _Grace Hazard Conkling_ 130 + + Prayer _John Hall Wheelock_ 130 + + In a Garden _Livingston L. Biddle_ 131 + + A Song of Fairies _Elizabeth Kirby_ 131 + + A Song to Belinda _Theodosia Garrison_ 132 + + Sweetheart-Lady _Frank L. Stanton_ 133 + + Heart's Garden _Norreys Jephson O'Conor_ 133 + + A Rose Lover _Frederic A. Whiting_ 134 + + Sonnet _Elsa Barker_ 135 + + A Song in a Garden _Theodosia Garrison_ 135 + + "It was June in the garden" _Emile Verhaeren_ 136 + + Two Roses _William Lindsey_ 138 + + Roses _Wilfrid Wilson Gibson_ 138 + + Her Garden _Louis Dodge_ 139 + + Ære Perennius _Charles Hanson Towne_ 139 + + Ever the Same _Josephine Preston Peabody_ 140 + + The Message _Helen Hay Whitney_ 141 + + Tell-Tale _Oliver Herford_ 142 + + Da Thief _T. A. Daly_ 143 + + Results and Roses _Edgar A. Guest_ 145 + + + UNDERNEATH THE BOUGH + + Miracle _L. H. Bailey_ 148 + + The Awakening _Angela Morgan_ 149 + + Shade _Theodosia Garrison_ 150 + + Selection from "Under the Trees" _Anna Hempstead Branch_ 151 + + A Garden Friend _Catherine Markham_ (_Mrs. Edwin Markham_) 152 + + A Lady of the Snows _Harriet Monroe_ 153 + + The Tree _Evelyn Underhill_ 153 + + "Loveliest of trees" _A. E. Housman_ 155 + + The Spirit of the Birch _Arthur Ketchum_ 156 + + Family Trees _Douglas Malloch_ 156 + + Idealists _Alfred Kreymborg_ 158 + + "Draw closer, O ye trees" _Lloyd Mifflin_ 159 + + Trees _Bliss Carman_ 160 + + The Trees _Samuel Valentine Cole_ 162 + + The Poplars _Theodosia Garrison_ 164 + + Trees _Joyce Kilmer_ 165 + + + THE LOST GARDENS OF THE HEART + + As in a Rose-Jar _Thomas S. Jones, Jr._ 168 + + In an Old Garden _Madison Cawein_ 169 + + The Garden of Dreams _Bliss Carman_ 169 + + Homesick _Julia C. R. Dorr_ 170 + + The Ways of Time _William H. Davies_ 172 + + A Midsummer Garden _Clinton Scollard_ 172 + + The White Rose _Charles Hanson Towne_ 173 + + A Haunted Garden _Louis Untermeyer_ 174 + + The Dusty Hour-Glass _Amy Lowell_ 176 + + The Song of Wandering Aengus _W. B. Yeats_ 177 + + The Three Cherry Trees _Walter de la Mare_ 178 + + Old Gardens _Arthur Upson_ 179 + + The Blooming of the Rose _Anna Hempstead Branch_ 179 + + The Garden of Mnemosyne _Rosamund Marriott Watson_ 181 + + Ballade of the Dreamland Rose _Brian Hooker_ 181 + + The Flowers of June _James Terry White_ 183 + + In Memory's Garden _Thomas Walsh_ 183 + + Serenade _Marjorie L. C. Pickthall_ 184 + + "What heart but fears a fragrance?" _Martha Gilbert + Dickinson Bianchi_ 185 + + Years Afterward _Nancy Byrd Turner_ 186 + + Autumnal _Richard Middleton_ 186 + + "Oh, tell me how my garden grows" _Mildred Howells_ 188 + + Her Garden _Eldredge Denison_ 189 + + The Little Ghost _Edna St. Vincent Millay_ 190 + + Roses in the Subway _Dana Burnet_ 191 + + + THE GARDEN OVER-SEAS + + A Garden Prayer _Thomas Walsh_ 194 + + In the Garden-Close at Mezra _Clinton Scollard_ 195 + + The Cactus _Laurence Hope_ 195 + + The White Peacock _William Sharp_ 196 + + At Isola Bella _Jessie B. Rittenhouse_ 198 + + The Fountain _Sara Teasdale_ 199 + + The Champa Flower _Rabindranath Tagore_ 200 + + In an Egyptian Garden _Clinton Scollard_ 201 + + Evening in Old Japan _Antoinette De Coursey Patterson_ 202 + + Reflections _Amy Lowell_ 203 + + In the Garden _Pai Ta-Shun_ 204 + + The Deserted Garden _Pai Ta-Shun_ 204 + + A Roman Garden _Florence Wilkinson Evans_ 205 + + Como in April _Robert Underwood Johnson_ 207 + + An Exile's Garden _Sophie Jewett_ 207 + + The Cloister Garden at Certosa _Richard Burton_ 208 + + A Garden in Venice _Dorothy Frances Gurney_ 209 + + In a Garden of Granada _Thomas Walsh_ 210 + + Amiel's Garden _Gertrude Huntington McGiffert_ 211 + + Eden-Hunger _William Watson_ 212 + + The Garden at Bemerton _Lizette Woodworth Reese_ 212 + + In an Oxford Garden _Arthur Upson_ 213 + + + THE HOMELY GARDEN + + "Grandmother's gathering boneset" _Edith M. Thomas_ 216 + + A Breath of Mint _Grace Hazard Conkling_ 217 + + A Seller of Herbs _Lizette Woodworth Reese_ 218 + + Lavender _W. W. Blair Fish_ 219 + + Dawn in my Garden _Marguerite Wilkinson_ 221 + + The Proud Vegetables _Mary McNeil Fenollosa_ 221 + + The Choice _Katharine Tynan_ 223 + + Thoughts fer the Discuraged Farmer _James Whitcomb Riley_ 225 + + Grace for Gardens _Louise Driscoll_ 226 + + + SILVER BELLS AND COCKLE SHELLS + + Planting _Robert Livingston_ 230 + + Spring Patchwork _Abbie Farwell Brown_ 231 + + Baby's Valentine _Laura E. Richards_ 232 + + Baby Seed Song _E. Nesbit_ 234 + + Rain in the Night _Amelia Josephine Burr_ 235 + + A Little Girl's Songs--I, Spring Song; II, Velvets (By a + Bed of Pansies) _Hilda Conkling_ (_six years old_) 236 + + When Swallows Build _Catherine Parmenter_ (_eleven years + old_) 238 + + Spring Planting _Helen Hay Whitney_ 239 + + If I could dig like a Rabbit _Rose Strong Hubbell_ 239 + + The Little God _Katharine Howard_ 240 + + Daisies _Frank Dempster Sherman_ 241 + + The Anxious Farmer _Burges Johnson_ 242 + + Over the Garden Wall _Emily Selinger_ 243 + + The Flowerphone _Abbie Farwell Brown_ 244 + + The Faithless Flowers _Margaret Widdemer_ 245 + + The Flower-School _Rabindranath Tagore_ 246 + + Iris Flowers _Mary McNeil Fenollosa_ 247 + + If I were a Fairy _Charles Buxton Going_ 249 + + Fringed Gentians _Amy Lowell_ 250 + + The Scissors-Man _Grace Hazard Conkling_ 250 + + + THE GARDEN OF LIFE + + God's Garden _Richard Burton_ 254 + + "The Lord God planted a garden" _Dorothy Frances Gurney_ 255 + + The Lilies _George E. Woodberry_ 255 + + Barter _Sara Teasdale_ 256 + + Sonnet _John Masefield_ 257 + + The Tilling _Cale Young Rice_ 258 + + Safe _Robert Haven Schauffler_ 259 + + Sorrow in a Garden _May Riley Smith_ 260 + + Moth-Flowers _Jeanne Robert Foster_ 262 + + Alchemy _Sara Teasdale_ 262 + + Flowers in the Dark _Sarah Orne Jewett_ 263 + + Welcome _John Curtis Underwood_ 264 + + The Child in the Garden _Henry van Dyke_ 265 + + A Wonder Garden _Frederic A. Whiting_ 266 + + From a Car-Window _Ruth Guthrie Harding_ 267 + + Song of the Weary Traveller _Blanche Shoemaker Wagstaff_ 267 + + Cobwebs _Louise Imogen Guiney_ 268 + + Blind _Harry Kemp_ 269 + + Herb of Grace _Amelia Josephine Burr_ 270 + + Before Mary of Magdala came _Edwin Markham_ 270 + + Conscience _Margaret Steele Anderson_ 273 + + Rosa Mystica _Katharine Tynan_ 273 + + The Mystery _Ralph Hodgson_ 275 + + The Rose _Angela Morgan_ 275 + + For These _Edward Thomas_ (_Edward Eastaway_) 276 + + Samuel Gardner _Edgar Lee Masters_ 277 + + Seeds _John Oxenham_ 278 + + "Lord, I ask a Garden" _R. Arevalo Martinez_ 279 + + My Flower-Room _Ella Wheeler Wilcox_ 280 + + "Vestured and veiled with twilight" _Rosamund Marriott + Watson_ 282 + + The Fruit Garden Path _Amy Lowell_ 283 + + Wood Song _Sara Teasdale_ 284 + + A Prayer _Edwin Markham_ 284 + + The Philosopher's Garden _John Oxenham_ 285 + + + Index of Titles 287 + + Index of Authors 297 + + + * * * * * + + + + + WITHIN GARDEN WALLS + + +EARTH + + _Grasshopper, your fairy song + And my poem alike belong + To the deep and silent earth + From which all poetry has birth; + All we say and all we sing + Is but as the murmuring + Of that drowsy heart of hers + When from her deep dream she stirs: + If we sorrow, or rejoice, + You and I are but her voice._ + + _Deftly does the dust express + In mind her hidden loveliness, + And from her cool silence stream + The cricket's cry and Dante's dream: + For the earth that breeds the trees + Breeds cities too, and symphonies, + Equally her beauty flows + Into a savior or a rose._ + + * * * * * + + _Even as the growing grass + Up from the soil religions pass, + And the field that bears the rye + Bears parables and prophecy. + Out of the earth the poem grows + Like the lily, or the rose; + And all that man is or yet may be, + Is but herself in agony + Toiling up the steep ascent + Towards the complete accomplishment + When all dust shall be, the whole + Universe, one conscious soul._ + + * * * * * + + _Yea, and this my poem, too, + Is part of her as dust and dew, + Wherein herself she doth declare + Through my lips, and say her prayer._ + + JOHN HALL WHEELOCK + + +THE FURROW + + Stride the hill, sower, + Up to the sky-ridge, + Flinging the seed, + Scattering, exultant! + Mouthing great rhythms + To the long sea beats + On the wide shore, behind + The ridge of the hillside. + + Below in the darkness-- + The slumber of mothers-- + The cradles at rest-- + The fire-seed sleeping + Deep in white ashes! + + Give to darkness and sleep: + O sower, O seer! + Give me to the Earth. + With the seed I would enter. + O! the growth thro' the silence + From strength to new strength; + Then the strong bursting forth + Against primal forces, + To laugh in the sunshine, + To gladden the world! + + PADRAIC COLUM + + +"THERE IS STRENGTH IN THE SOIL" + + There is strength in the soil; + In the earth there is laughter and youth. + There is solace and hope in the upturned loam. + And lo, I shall plant my soul in it here like a seed! + And forth it shall come to me as a flower of song; + For I know it is good to get back to the earth + That is orderly, placid, all-patient! + It is good to know how quiet + And noncommittal it breathes, + This ample and opulent bosom + That must some day nurse us all! + + ARTHUR STRINGER + + +IN THE WOMB + + Still rests the heavy share on the dark soil: + Upon the black mould thick the dew-damp lies: + The horse waits patient: from his lowly toil + The ploughboy to the morning lifts his eyes. + + The unbudding hedgerows dark against day's fires + Glitter with gold-lit crystals: on the rim + Over the unregarding city's spires + The lonely beauty shines alone for him. + + And day by day the dawn or dark unfolds + And feeds with beauty eyes that cannot see + How in her womb the mighty mother moulds + The infant spirit for eternity. + + "A. E." + (GEORGE WILLIAM RUSSELL) + + +PUTTING IN THE SEED + + You come to fetch me from my work to-night + When supper's on the table, and we'll see + If I can leave off burying the white + Soft petals fallen from the apple tree. + + (Soft petals, yes, but not so barren quite, + Mingled with these, smooth bean and wrinkled pea;) + And go along with you ere you lose sight + Of what you came for and become like me, + + Slave to a springtime passion for the earth. + How Love burns through the Putting in the Seed + On through the watching for that early birth + When, just as the soil tarnishes with weed, + + The sturdy seedling with arched body comes + Shouldering its way and shedding the earth crumbs. + + ROBERT FROST + + +THE WHISPER OF EARTH + + In the misty hollow, shyly greening branches + Soften to the south wind, bending to the rain. + From the moistened earthland flutter little whispers, + Breathing hidden beauty, innocent of stain. + + Little plucking fingers tremble through the grasses, + Little silent voices sigh the dawn of spring, + Little burning earth-flames break the awful stillness, + Little crying wind-sounds come before the King. + + Powers, dominations urge the budding of the crocus, + Cherubim are singing in the moist cool stone, + Seraphim are calling through the channels of the lily, + God has heard the earth-cry and journeys to His throne. + + EDWARD J. O'BRIEN + + +"WITHIN THE GARDEN THERE IS HEALTHFULNESS" + + Within the garden there is healthfulness. + + Lavishly it gives it us + In light that cleaves + To every movement of its thousand hands + Of palms and leaves. + + And the good shade where it accepts, + After long journeyings, + Our steps, + Pours on the weary limb + A force of life and sweetness like + Its mosses dim. + + When the lake is playing with the wind and sun. + It seems a crimson heart + Within, all ardent, has begun + To throb with the moving wave; + The gladiolus and the fervent rose, + Which in their splendor move unshadowèd, + Upon their vital stems expose + Their cups of gold and red. + + Within the garden there is healthfulness. + + EMILE VERHAEREN + + +IN A GARDEN + + I stood within a Garden during rain + Uncovering to the drops my lifted brow: + O joyous fancy, to imagine now + I slip, with trees and clouds, the social chain, + Alone with nature, naught to lose or gain + Nor even to become; no, just to be + A moment's personal essence, wholly free + From needs that mold the heart to forms of pain. + Arise, I cried, and celebrate the hour! + Acclaim serener gladness; if it fail, + New courage, nobler vision, will survive + That I have known my kinship to the flower, + My brotherhood with rain, and in this vale + Have been a moment's friend to all alive. + + HORACE HOLLEY + + +A SHOWER + + You may have seen, when winds were high, + That hesitant buds would not unfold + In garden-borders chill and dry, + Bright with the Easter-lilies' gold. + + Then, suddenly, would come a shower-- + The big breeze veering to the west-- + And happier music filled the bower + Above the thrush's hidden nest: + + The elm-tree's inconspicuous bloom + Vanished amidst her little leaves; + In box and bay a fragrant gloom + Inspired the wren's recitatives: + + The woods assumed their delicate green + And spoke in songs that brought you bliss: + Ay, and your withered heart has been + Quickened on such a day as this! + + ROWLAND THIRLMERE + + +THE RAIN + + I hear leaves drinking Rain; + I hear rich leaves on top + Giving the poor beneath + Drop after drop; + 'Tis a sweet noise to hear + These green leaves drinking near. + + And when the Sun comes out, + After this Rain shall stop, + A wondrous Light will fill + Each dark, round drop; + I hope the Sun shines bright; + 'Twill be a lovely sight. + + WILLIAM H. DAVIES + + +THE DEWS + + We come and go, as the breezes blow, + But whence or where + Hath ne'er been told in the legends old + By the dreaming seer. + The welcome rain to the parching plain + And the languid leaves, + The rattling hail on the burnished mail + Of the serried sheaves, + The silent snow on the wintry brow + Of the aged year, + Wends each his way in the track of day + From a clouded sphere: + But still as the fog in the dismal bog + Where the shifting sheen + Of the spectral lamp lights the marshes damp, + With a flash unseen + We drip through the night from the starlids bright, + On the sleeping flowers, + And deep in their breast is our perfumed rest + Through the darkened hours: + But again with the day we are up and away + With our stolen dyes, + To paint all the shrouds of the drifting clouds + In the eastern skies. + + JOHN B. TABB + + +SONNET + + It may be so; but let the unknown be. + We, on this earth, are servants of the sun. + Out of the sun comes all the quick in me, + His golden touch is life to everyone. + + His power it is that makes us spin through space, + His youth is April and his manhood bread, + Beauty is but a looking on his face, + He clears the mind, he makes the roses red. + + What he may be, who knows? But we are his, + We roll through nothing round him, year by year, + The withering leaves upon a tree which is + Each with his greed, his little power, his fear. + + What we may be, who knows? But everyone + Is dust on dust a servant of the sun. + + JOHN MASEFIELD + + +CHARM: TO BE SAID IN THE SUN + + I reach my arms up, to the sky, + And golden vine on vine + Of sunlight showered wild and high, + Around my brows I twine. + + I wreathe, I wind it everywhere, + The burning radiancy + Of brightness that no eye may dare, + To be the strength of me. + + Come, redness of the crystalline, + Come green, come hither blue + And violet--all alive within, + For I have need of you. + + Come honey-hue and flush of gold, + And through the pallor run, + With pulse on pulse of manifold + New largess of the Sun! + + O steep the silence till it sing! + O glories from the height, + Come down, where I am garlanding + With light, a child of light! + + JOSEPHINE PRESTON PEABODY + + +THE DIALS + + With fingers softer than the touch of death + The sundial writes the passing of the day, + The hours unfolding slow to twilight gray, + The gleaming moments vanish in a breath. + + But sunny hours alone the sundial names; + All unrecorded are the midnight spans + And vain within the dusk the watcher scans + The marble face; thereon no record flames. + + So on eternal dials that God may hold, + And those more humble in the human heart, + No bitter deeds their passing hours impart; + Kind deeds alone are marked in fadeless gold! + + ARTHUR WALLACE PEACH + + +TO A NEW SUNDIAL + + Oh, Sundial, you should not be young, + Or fresh and fair, or spick and span! + None should remember when began + Your tenure here, nor whence you sprung! + + Like ancient cromlech notch'd and scarr'd, + I would have had you sadly tow'r + Above this world of leaf and flower + All ivy-tress'd and lichen-starr'd; + + Ambassador of Time and Fate, + In contrast stern to bud and bloom, + Seeming half temple and half tomb, + And wholly solemn and sedate; + + Till, one with God's own works on earth, + The lake, the vale, the mountain-brow, + We might have come to count you now + Whose home was here before our birth. + + But lo! a priggish, upstart thing-- + Set here to tell so old a truth-- + How fleeting are our days of youth-- + _You_, that were only made last spring! + + Go to!... What sermon can you preach, + Oh, mushroom--mentor pert and new? + We are too old to learn of you + What you are all too young to teach! + + Yet, Sundial, you and I may swear + Eternal friendship, none the less, + For I'll respect your youthfulness + If you'll forgive my silver hair! + + VIOLET FANE + + +THE FOUNTAIN + + I thought my garden finished. I beheld + Each bush bee-visited; a green charm quelled + The louder winds to music; soft boughs made + Patches of silver dusk and purple shade-- + And yet I felt a lack of something still. + + There was a little, sleepy-footed rill + That lapsed among sun-burnished stones, where slept + Fish, rainbow-scaled, while dragon-flies, adept, + Balanced on bending grass. + + All perfect? No. + My garden lacked a fountain's upward flow. + I coaxed the brook's young Naiad to resign + Her meadow wildness, building her a shrine + Of worship, where each ravished waif of air + Might wanton in the brightness of her hair. + + So here my fountain flows, loved of the wind, + To every vagrant, aimless gust inclined, + Yet constant ever to its source. It greets + The face of morning, wavering windy sheets + Of woven silver; sheer it climbs the noon, + A shaft of bronze; and underneath the moon + It sleeps in pearl and opal. In the storm + It streams far out, a wild, gray, blowing form; + While on calm days it heaps above the lake,-- + Pelting the dreaming lilies half awake, + And pattering jewels on each wide, green frond,-- + Recurrent pyramids of diamond! + + HARRY KEMP + + + + + THE PAGEANTRY OF GARDENS + + +THE BIRTH OF THE FLOWERS + + _God spoke! and from the arid scene + Sprang rich and verdant bowers, + Till all the earth was soft with green,-- + He smiled; and there were flowers._ + + MARY MCNEIL FENOLLOSA + + +THE WELCOME + + God spreads a carpet soft and green + O'er which we pass; + A thick-piled mat of jeweled sheen-- + And that is Grass. + + Delightful music woos the ear; + The grass is stirred + Down to the heart of every spear-- + Ah, that's a Bird. + + Clouds roll before a blue immense + That stretches high + And lends the soul exalted sense-- + That scroll's a Sky. + + Green rollers flaunt their sparkling crests; + Their jubilee + Extols brave Captains and their quests-- + And that is Sea. + + New-leaping grass, the feathery flute, + The sapphire ring, + The sea's full-voiced, profound salute,-- + Ah, this is Spring! + + ARTHUR POWELL + + +THE JOY OF THE SPRINGTIME + + Springtime, O Springtime, what is your essence, + The lilt of a bulbul, the laugh of a rose, + The dance of the dew on the wings of a moonbeam, + The voice of the zephyr that sings as he goes, + The hope of a bride or the dream of a maiden + Watching the petals of gladness unclose? + + Springtime, O Springtime, what is your secret, + The bliss at the core of your magical mirth, + That quickens the pulse of the morning to wonder + And hastens the seeds of all beauty to birth, + That captures the heavens and conquers to blossom + The roots of delight in the heart of the earth? + + SAROJINI NAIDU + + +SPRING + + At the first hour, it was as if one said, "Arise." + At the second hour, it was as if one said, "Go forth." + And the winter constellations that are like patient ox-eyes + Sank below the white horizon at the north. + + At the third hour, it was as if one said, "I thirst;" + At the fourth hour, all the earth was still: + Then the clouds suddenly swung over, stooped, and burst; + And the rain flooded valley, plain and hill. + + At the fifth hour, darkness took the throne; + At the sixth hour, the earth shook and the wind cried; + At the seventh hour, the hidden seed was sown, + At the eighth hour, it gave up the ghost and died. + + At the ninth hour, they sealed up the tomb; + And the earth was then silent for the space of three hours. + But at the twelfth hour, a single lily from the gloom + Shot forth, and was followed by a whole host of flowers. + + JOHN GOULD FLETCHER + + +PRIMAVERA + + Spirit immortal of mortality, + Imperishable faith, calm miracle + Of resurrection, truth no tongue can tell, + No brain conceive,--now witnessed utterly + In this new testament of earth and sea,-- + To us thy gospel! Where the acorn fell + The oak-tree springs: no seed is infidel! + Once more, O Wonder, flower and field and tree + Reveal thy secret and significance! + And we, who share unutterable things + And feel the foretaste of eternity, + Haply shall learn thy meaning and perchance + Set free the soul to lift immortal wings + And cross the frontiers of infinity. + + GEORGE CABOT LODGE + + +THE GREEN O' THE SPRING + + Sure, afther all the winther, + An' afther all the snow, + 'Tis fine to see the sunshine, + 'Tis fine to feel its glow; + 'Tis fine to see the buds break + On boughs that bare have been-- + But best of all to Irish eyes + 'Tis grand to see the green! + + Sure, afther all the winther, + An' afther all the snow, + 'Tis fine to hear the brooks sing + As on their way they go; + 'Tis fine to hear at mornin' + The voice of robineen, + But best of all to Irish eyes + 'Tis grand to see the green! + + Sure, here in grim New England + The spring is always slow, + An' every bit o' green grass + Is kilt wid frost and snow; + Ah, many a heart is weary + The winther days, I ween + But oh, the joy when springtime comes + An' brings the blessed green! + + DENIS A. MCCARTHY + + +AN APRIL MORNING + + Once more in misted April + The world is growing green. + Along the winding river + The plumey willows lean. + + Beyond the sweeping meadows + The looming mountains rise, + Like battlements of dreamland + Against the brooding skies. + + In every wooded valley + The buds are breaking through, + As though the heart of all things + No languor ever knew. + + The golden-wings and bluebirds + Call to their heavenly choirs. + The pines are blued and drifted + With smoke of brushwood fires. + + And in my sister's garden + Where little breezes run, + The golden daffodillies + Are blowing in the sun. + + BLISS CARMAN + + +"WITH MEMORIES AND ODORS" + + With memories and odors + The wind is warm and mild; + The earth is like a mother + Where leaps the unborn child. + + The grackles flock returning + Like rain-clouds from the south. + And all the world lies yearning + Toward summer, mouth to mouth. + + How soft the hills and hazy + Seen through the open door!-- + The crocus shines, a virgin, + White from the grassy floor. + + The children whirl around in a ring, + And laugh and sing, and dance and sing: + But the blackbird whistles clear, + O clear, + "The Spring, the Spring!" + + JOHN HALL WHEELOCK + + +APRIL RAIN + + Fall, rain! You are the blood of coming blossom, + You shall be music in the young birds' throats, + You shall be breaking, soon, in silver notes; + A virgin laughter in the young earth's bosom. + Oh, that I could with you reënter earth, + Pass through her heart and come again to sun, + Out of her fertile dark to sing and run + In loveliness and fragrance of new mirth! + Fall, rain! Into the dust I go with you, + Pierce the remaining snows with subtle fire, + Warming the frozen roots with soft desire, + Dreams of ascending leaves and flowers new. + I am no longer body,--I am blood + Seeking for some new loveliness of shape; + Dark loveliness that dreams of new escape, + The sun-surrender of unclosing bud. + Take me, O Earth! and make me what you will; + I feel my heart with mingled music fill. + + CONRAD AIKEN + + +WHILE APRIL RAIN WENT BY + + Under a budding hedge I hid + While April rain went by, + But little drops came slipping through, + Fresh from a laughing sky: + + A-many little scurrying drops, + Laughing the song they sing, + Soon found me where I sought to hide, + And pelted me with Spring. + + And I lay back and let them pelt, + And dreamt deliciously + Of lusty leaves and lady-blossoms + And baby-buds I'd see + + When April rain had laughed the land + Out of its wintry way, + And coaxed all growing things to greet + With gracious garb the May. + + SHAEMAS O SHEEL + + +SPRING + + The dews drip roses on the meadows + Where the meek daisies dot the sward. + And Æolus whispers through the shadows, + "Behold the handmaid of the Lord!" + The golden news the skylark waketh + And 'thwart the heavens his flight is curled; + Attend ye as the first note breaketh + And chrism droppeth on the world. + + The velvet dusk still haunts the stream + Where Pan makes music light and gay. + The mountain mist hath caught a beam + And slowly weeps itself away. + The young leaf bursts its chrysalis + And gem-like hangs upon the bough, + Where the mad throstle sings in bliss + O'er earth's rejuvenated brow. + + ENVOI + + Slowly fall, O golden sands, + Slowly fall and let me sing, + Wrapt in the ecstasy of youth, + The wild delights of Spring. + + FRANCIS LEDWIDGE + + +APRIL WEATHER + + Oh, hush, my heart, and take thine ease, + For here is April weather! + The daffodils beneath the trees + Are all a-row together. + + The thrush is back with his old note; + The scarlet tulip blowing; + And white--ay, white as my love's throat-- + The dogwood boughs are glowing. + + The lilac bush is sweet again; + Down every wind that passes, + Fly flakes from hedgerow and from lane; + The bees are in the grasses. + + And Grief goes out, and Joy comes in, + And Care is but a feather; + And every lad his love can win, + For here is April weather. + + LIZETTE WOODWORTH REESE + + +DAFFODILS + + There flames the first gay daffodil + Where winter-long the snows have lain: + Who buried Love, all spent and still? + There flames the first gay daffodil. + Go, Love's alive on yonder hill, + And yours for asking, joy and pain, + There flames the first gay daffodil + Where winter-long the snows have lain! + + RUTH GUTHRIE HARDING + + +THE CROCUS FLAME + + The Easter sunrise flung a bar of gold + O'er the awakening wold. + What was thine answer, O thou brooding earth, + What token of re-birth, + Of tender vernal mirth, + Thou the long-prisoned in the bonds of cold? + + Under the kindling panoply which God + Spreads over tree and clod, + I looked far abroad. + Umber the sodden reaches seemed and seer + As when the dying year, + With rime-white sandals shod, + Faltered and fell upon its frozen bier. + Of some rathe quickening, some divine + Renascence not a sign! + + And yet, and yet, + With touch of viol-chord, with mellow fret, + The lyric South amid the bough-tops stirred, + And one lone bird + An unexpected jet + Of song projected through the morning blue, + As though some wondrous hidden thing it knew. + + And so I gathered heart, and cried again: + "O earth, make plain, + At this matutinal hour, + The triumph and the power + Of life eternal over death and pain, + Although it be but by some simple flower!" + + And then, with sudden light, + Was dowered my veilèd sight, + And I beheld in a sequestered place + A slender crocus show its sun-bright face. + O miracle of Grace, + Earth's Easter answer came, + The revelation of transfiguring Might, + In that small crocus flame! + + CLINTON SCOLLARD + + +THE EARLY GODS + + It is the time of violets. + It is the very day + When in the shadow of the wood + Spring shall have her say, + Remembering how the early gods + Came up the violet way. + Are there not violets + And gods-- + To-day? + + WITTER BYNNER + + +A TULIP GARDEN + + Guarded within the old red wall's embrace, + Marshalled like soldiers in gay company, + The tulips stand arrayed. Here infantry + Wheels out into the sunlight. What bold grace + Sets off their tunics, white with crimson lace! + Here are platoons of gold-frocked cavalry, + With scarlet sabres tossing in the eye + Of purple batteries, every gun in place. + Forward they come, with flaunting colors spread, + With torches burning, stepping out in time + To some quick, unheard march. Our ears are dead, + We cannot catch the tune. In pantomime + Parades the army. With our utmost powers + We hear the wind stream through a bed of flowers. + + AMY LOWELL + + +TULIPS + + Brave little fellows in crimsons and yellows, + Coming while breezes of April are cold, + Winter can't freeze you, he flies when he sees you + Thrusting your spears through the redolent mold. + + Jolly Dutch flowers, rejoicing in showers, + Drink! ere the pageant of Spring passes by! + Hold your carousals to Robin's espousals, + Lifting rich cups for the wine of the sky! + + Dignified urbans in glossy silk turbans, + Burgherlike blossoms of gardens and squares, + Nodding so solemn by fountain and column, + What is the talk of your weighty affairs? + + Pollen and honey (for such is your money),-- + Gossip and freight of the chaffering bee,-- + Prospects of growing,--what colors are showing,-- + News of rare tulips from over the sea? + + Loitering near you, how often I hear you, + Just ere your petals at twilight are furled, + Laugh through the grasses while Evelyn passes, + "There goes the loveliest flower in the world!" + + ARTHUR GUITERMAN + + +A WHITE IRIS + + Tall and clothed in samite, + Chaste and pure, + In smooth armor,-- + Your head held high + In its helmet + Of silver: + Jean D'Arc riding + Among the sword blades! + + Has Spring for you + Wrought visions, + As it did for her + In a garden? + + PAULINE B. BARRINGTON + + +MAY IS BUILDING HER HOUSE + + May is building her house. With apple blooms + She is roofing over the glimmering rooms; + Of the oak and the beech hath she builded its beams, + And, spinning all day at her secret looms, + With arras of leaves each wind-swayed wall + She pictureth over, and peopleth it all + With echoes and dreams, + And singing of streams. + + May is building her house of petal and blade; + Of the roots of the oak is the flooring made, + With a carpet of mosses and lichen and clover, + Each small miracle over and over, + And tender, travelling green things strayed. + + Her windows the morning and evening star, + And her rustling doorways, ever ajar + With the coming and going + Of fair things blowing, + The thresholds of the four winds are. + + May is building her house. From the dust of things + She is making the songs and the flowers and the wings; + From October's tossed and trodden gold + She is making the young year out of the old; + Yea! out of winter's flying sleet + She is making all the summer sweet, + And the brown leaves spurned of November's feet + She is changing back again to spring's. + + RICHARD LE GALLIENNE + + +THE MAGNOLIA + + Deep in the wood, of scent and song the daughter, + Perfect and bright is the magnolia born; + White as a flake of foam upon still water, + White as soft fleece upon rough brambles torn. + + Hers is a cup a workman might have fashioned + Of Grecian marble in an age remote. + Hers is a beauty perfect and impassioned, + As when a woman bares her rounded throat. + + There is a tale of how the moon, her lover, + Holds her enchanted by some magic spell; + Something about a dove that broods above her, + Or dies within her breast--I cannot tell. + + I cannot say where I have heard the story, + Upon what poet's lips; but this I know: + Her heart is like a pearl's, or like the glory + Of moonbeams frozen on the spotless snow. + + JOSÉ SANTOS CHOCANO + (_Translated by John Pierrepont Rice_) + + +"GO DOWN TO KEW IN LILAC-TIME" + + Go down to Kew in lilac-time, in lilac-time, in lilac-time; + Go down to Kew in lilac-time (it isn't far from London!) + And you shall wander hand in hand with love in summer's wonderland; + Go down to Kew in lilac-time (it isn't far from London!). + + The cherry-trees are seas of bloom and soft perfume and sweet perfume, + The cherry-trees are seas of bloom (and oh, so near to London!) + And there they say, when dawn is high and all the world's a blaze of + sky + The cuckoo, though he's very shy, will sing a song for London. + + The Dorian nightingale is rare, and yet they say you'll hear him there + At Kew, at Kew in lilac-time (and oh, so near to London!) + The linnet and the throstle, too, and after dark the long halloo + And golden-eyed _tu-whit_, _tu-whoo_ of owls that ogle London. + + For Noah hardly knew a bird of any kind that isn't heard + At Kew, at Kew in lilac-time (and oh, so near to London!) + And when the rose begins to pout and all the chestnut spires are out + You'll hear the rest without a doubt, all chorussing for London:-- + + _Come down to Kew in lilac-time, in lilac-time, in lilac-time; + Come down to Kew in lilac-time (it isn't far from London!) + And you shall wander hand in hand with love in summer's wonderland; + Come down to Kew in lilac-time (it isn't far from London!)._ + + ALFRED NOYES + + +BEYOND + + I wonder if the tides of Spring + Will always bring me back again + Mute rapture at the simple thing + Of lilacs blowing in the rain. + + If so, my heart will ever be + Above all fear, for I shall know + There is a greater mystery + Beyond the time when lilacs blow. + + THOMAS S. JONES, JR. + + +JUNE + + I knew that you were coming, June, I knew that you were coming! + Among the alders by the stream I heard a partridge drumming; + I heard a partridge drumming, June, a welcome with his wings, + And felt a softness in the air half Summer's and half Spring's. + + I knew that you were nearing, June, I knew that you were nearing-- + I saw it in the bursting buds of roses in the clearing; + The roses in the clearing, June, were blushing pink and red, + For they had heard upon the hills the echo of your tread. + + I knew that you were coming, June, I knew that you were coming, + For ev'ry warbler in the wood a song of joy was humming. + I know that you are here, June, I know that you are here-- + The fairy month, the merry month, the laughter of the year! + + DOUGLAS MALLOCH + + +JUNE RAPTURE + + Green! What a world of green! My startled soul + Panting for beauty long denied, + Leaps in a passion of high gratitude + To meet the wild embraces of the wood; + Rushes and flings itself upon the whole + Mad miracle of green, with senses wide, + Clings to the glory, hugs and holds it fast, + As one who finds a long-lost love at last. + Billows of green that break upon the sight + In bounteous crescendos of delight, + Wind-hurried verdure hastening up the hills + To where the sun its highest rapture spills; + Cascades of color tumbling down the height + In golden gushes of delicious light-- + God! Can I bear the beauty of this day, + Or shall I be swept utterly away? + + Hush--here are deeps of green, where rapture stills, + Sheathing itself in veils of amber dusk; + Breathing a silence suffocating, sweet, + Wherein a million hidden pulses beat. + Look! How the very air takes fire and thrills + With hint of heaven pushing through her husk. + Ah, joy's not stopped! 'Tis only more intense, + Here where Creation's ardors all condense; + Here where I crush me to the radiant sod, + Close-folded to the very nerves of God. + See now--I hold my heart against this tree. + The life that thrills its trembling leaves thrills me. + There's not a pleasure pulsing through its veins + That does not sting me with ecstatic pains. + No twig or tracery, however fine, + Can bear a tale of joy exceeding mine. + + Praised be the gods that made my spirit mad; + Kept me aflame and raw to beauty's touch. + Lashed me and scourged me with the whip of fate; + Gave me so often agony for mate; + Tore from my heart the things that make men glad-- + Praised be the gods! If I at last, by such + Relentless means may know the sacred bliss, + The anguished rapture of an hour like this. + Smite me, O Life, and bruise me if thou must; + Mock me and starve me with thy bitter crust, + But keep me thus aquiver and awake, + Enamoured of my life for living's sake! + _This were the tragedy_--that I should pass, + Dull and indifferent through the glowing grass. + And this the reason I was born, I say-- + That I might know the passion of this day! + + ANGELA MORGAN + + +COLUMBINES + + Late were we sleeping + Deep in the mold, + Clasping and keeping + Yesterday's gold-- + Hoardings of sunshine, + Crimson and gold; + Dreaming of light till our dream became + Aureate bells and beakers of flame,-- + Splashed with the splendor of wine of flame. + Raindrop awoke us; + Zephyr bespoke us; + Chick-a-dee called us, + Bobolink called us,-- + Then we came. + + ARTHUR GUITERMAN + + +THE MORNING-GLORY + + Was it worth while to paint so fair + Thy every leaf--to vein with faultless art + Each petal, taking the boon light and air + Of summer so to heart? + + To bring thy beauty unto perfect flower, + Then, like a passing fragrance or a smile, + Vanish away, beyond recovery's power-- + Was it, frail bloom, worth while? + + Thy silence answers: "Life was mine! + And I, who pass without regret or grief, + Have cared the more to make my moment fine, + Because it was so brief. + + "In its first radiance I have seen + The sun!--why tarry then till comes the night? + I go my way, content that I have been + Part of the morning light!" + + FLORENCE EARLE COATES + + +THE BLOSSOMY BARROW + + Antonio Sarto ees buildin' a wall, + But maybe he nevva gon' feenish at all. + Eet sure wonta be + Teell flower an' tree + An' all kinda growin' theengs sleep een da Fall. + + You see, deesa 'Tonio always ees want' + To leeve on a farm, so he buy wan las' mont'. + I s'posa som' day eet be verra nice place, + But shape dat he find eet een sure ees "deesgrace"; + Eet's busta so bad he must feexin' eet all, + An' firs' theeng he starta for build ees da wall. + Mysal' I go outa for see heem wan day, + An' dere I am catcha heem sweatin' away; + He's liftin' beeg stones from all parts of hees land + An' takin' dem up to da wall een hees hand! + I say to heem: "Tony, why don'ta you gat + Som' leetla wheel-barrow for halp you weeth dat?" + "O! com' an' I show you w'at's matter," he said, + An' so we go look at hees tools een da shed. + Dere's fina beeg wheel-barrow dere on da floor, + But w'at do you s'pose? From een under da door, + Som' mornin'-glor' vines have creep eento da shed, + An' beautiful flower, all purpla an' red, + Smile out from da vina so pretty an' green + Dat tweest round da wheel an' da sides da machine. + I look at dees Tony an' say to heem: "Wal?" + An' Tony he look back at me an' say: "Hal! + I no can bust up soocha beautiful theeng; + I work weeth my han's eef eet tak' me teell spreeng!" + + Antonio Sarto ees buildin' a wall, + But maybe he nevva gon' feenish at all. + Eet sure wonta be + Teell flower an' tree + An' all kinda growin' theengs sleep een da Fall. + + T. A. DALY + + +LARKSPUR + + Blue morning and the beloved, + The hill-garden and I ... + + Blue morning and the beloved, + Leaning, laughing and plucking, + Plucking wet roses ... + + (She among the roses, + I among the larkspur, + Bob-white, warbler, meadowlark, bobolink, + Song, sun, + And still morning air.) + + I snipped off a larkspur blossom of china-blue + And held it, + A blossom against the sky ... + + And heaven opened out + In one small flower-face ... + + And the beloved, + Plucking roses, plucking roses, old-fashioned roses, + Lifted her face + With eyes of china-blue. + + (She among the roses, + I among the larkspur, + Bee-hum, brown-mole, downy chick, humming-bird: + Light, dew, + And laughter of my love.) + + JAMES OPPENHEIM + + +THE JULY GARDEN + + It's July in my garden; and steel-blue are the globe thistles + And French grey the willows that bow to every breeze; + And deep in every currant bush a robber blackbird whistles + "I'm picking, I'm picking, I'm picking these!" + + So off I go to rout them, and find instead I'm gazing + At clusters of delphiniums--the seed was small and brown, + But these are spurs that fell from heaven and caught the most amazing + Colours of the welkin's own as they came hustling down. + + And then some roses catch my eye, or may be some Sweet Williams + Or pink and white and purple peals of Canterbury bells + Or pencilled Violas that peep between the three-leaved trilliums + Or red-hot pokers all aglow or poppies that cast spells-- + + And while I stare at each in turn I quite forget or pardon + The blackbirds--and the blackguards--that keep robbing me of pie; + For what do such things matter when I have so fair a garden + And what is half so lovely as my garden in July? + + ROBERT ERNEST VERNÈDE + + +"MID-SUMMER BLOOMS WITHIN OUR QUIET GARDEN-WAYS" + + Mid-summer blooms within our quiet garden-ways; + A golden peacock down the dusky alley strays; + Gay flower petals strew + --Pearl, emerald and blue-- + The curving slopes of fragrant summer grass; + The pools are clear as glass + Between the white cups of the lily-flowers; + The currants are like jewelled fairy-bowers; + A dazzling insect worries the heart of a rose, + Where a delicate fern a filmy shadow throws, + And airy as bubbles the thousands of bees + Over the young grape-clusters swarm as they please. + + The air is pearly, iridescent, pure; + These profound and radiant noons mature, + Unfolding even as odorous roses of clear light; + Familiar roads to distances invite + Like slow and graceful gestures, one by one + Bound for the pearly-hued horizon and the sun. + + Surely the summer clothes, with all her arts, + No other garden with such grace and power; + And 'tis the poignant joy close-folded in our hearts + That cries its life aloud from every flaming flower. + + EMILE VERHAEREN + + +POPPIES + + O perfect flowers of sweet midsummer days, + The season's emblems ye, + As nodding lazily + Ye kiss to sleep each breeze that near you strays, + And soothe the tired gazer's sense + With lulling surges of your softest somnolence. + + Like fairy lamps ye light the garden bed + With tender ruby glow. + Not any flowers that blow + Can match the glory of your gleaming red; + Such sunny-warm and dreamy hue + Before ye lit your fires no garden ever knew. + + Bright are the blossoms of the scarlet sage, + And bright the velvet vest + On the nasturtium's breast; + Bright are the tulips when they reddest rage, + And bright the coreopsis' eye;-- + But none of all can with your brilliant beauty vie. + + O soft and slumberous flowers, we love you well; + Your glorious crimson tide + The mossy walk beside + Holds all the garden in its drowsy spell; + And walking there we gladly bless + Your queenly grace and all your languorous loveliness. + + JOHN RUSSELL HAYES + + +THE GARDEN IN AUGUST + + From corn-crib by the level pasture-lands + To knoll where spruce and boulders hide the road + I know it like a book, and when my heart + Is waste and dry and hard and choked with weeds, + I come here till it gently blooms again. + For gardens yield rich fruits that will outlast + The autumn and the winter of the soul, + Richest to him who toils with loving hands. + 'Tis delving thus we learn life's secrets told + But to those favored few who dig for them. + The Garden is an intimate and keeps + In touch with us, yet hath its own high moods, + And doth impose them on the mind of man + To shame his pettiness. So do I love + Its shimmering August mood keyed to the sun, + A harlequin of color, birds and bloom. + Nasturtiums, zinnias, balsams, salvias blaze + By vivid dahlias; tiger-lilies burn + In scarlet shadow of Jerusalem-cross; + Beyond the queen-hydrangeas splendid rule + Barbaric marigolds; chrysanthemums + Outshine gladioli, and sunflowers flaunt + Their crests of gold beneath the giant gourds. + Within the arbor, script forgot, I muse, + While gorgeous hollyhocks sway to and fro + To mark the silences, and butterflies + Flit in and out like some bright memory, + And blinding poppies kindle slow watch-fires + Before the golden altar of the sun. + + A spell lies on the Garden. Summer sits + With finger on her lips as if she heard + The steps of Autumn echo on the hill. + A hush lies on the Garden. Summer dreams + Of timid crocus thrust through drifted snow. + + GERTRUDE HUNTINGTON MCGIFFERT + + +SUN, CARDINAL, AND CORN FLOWERS + + Whence gets Earth her gold for thee, + O Sunflower? + Her woven, yellow locks so fine + Must go to make that gold of thine. + + And whence thy red beside the stream, + O Cardinal-flower? + She pricks some vein lies near her heart + That thy rich, ruddy hue may start. + + And whence thy blue amid the corn, + O Corn-flower? + Her deep-blue eyes gleam out in glee, + The glories of her work to see. + + HANNAH PARKER KIMBALL + + +SUNFLOWERS + + My tall sunflowers love the sun, + Love the burning August noons + When the locust tunes its viol, + And the cricket croons. + + When the purple night draws on, + With its planets hung on high, + And the attared winds of slumber + Wander down the sky, + + Still my sunflowers love the sun, + Keep their ward and watch and wait + Till the rosy key of morning + Opes the eastern gate. + + Then, when they have deeply quaffed + From the brimming cups of dew, + You can hear their golden laughter + All the garden through. + + CLINTON SCOLLARD + + +THE END OF SUMMER + + When poppies in the garden bleed, + And coreopsis goes to seed, + And pansies, blossoming past their prime, + Grow small and smaller all the time, + When on the mown field, shrunk and dry, + Brown dock and purple thistle lie, + And smoke from forest fires at noon + Can make the sun appear the moon, + When apple seeds, all white before, + Begin to darken in the core, + I know that summer, scarcely here, + Is gone until another year. + + EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY + + +A LATE WALK + + When I go up through the mowing field, + The headless aftermath, + Smooth-laid like thatch with the heavy dew, + Half closes the garden path. + + And when I come to the garden ground, + The whir of sober birds + Up from the tangle of the withered weeds + Is sadder than any words. + + A tree beside the wall stands bare, + But a leaf that lingered brown, + Disturbed, I doubt not, by my thought, + Comes softly rustling down. + + I end not far from my going forth + By picking the faded blue + Of the last remaining aster flower + To carry again to you. + + ROBERT FROST + + +COLOR NOTES + + The brown of fallen leaves, + The duller brown + Of withered moss + Stubble and bared sheaves, + And pale light filtering down + The fields across. + + The gray of slender trees, + The softer gray + Of melting skies. + What sobering ecstasies + One drinks on such a day + With chastened eyes! + + CHARLES WHARTON STORK + + +THE GOLDEN BOWL + + I stand upon the broad and rounded summit + Of a high hill + In the full golden flood of an October day + Nearing to twilight. + Below lie bouquets of woods, flat fields, + White strings of roads winding like fairy tales into the distance, + All steeped in sapphire mist like the blue bloom of grapes. + Nearby a scarlet creeper trails a fence, + Nearer a hawthorn tree + Drops its wee crimson apples into the lush green grass. + I stand with head thrown back, + Seeing and breathing deep, + My arms stretched out, in my two hands + I hold a golden bowl. + Luscious fruits fulfil the yellow lustre of its hollow sphere, + Fruits like great gems, + A pear of russet topaz, a ruby peach, + A cluster of grapes-- + Amethysts from the dewy cave of night-- + A sapphire plum, a garnet apple, emerald nectarine, + And on them lies a rose. + + Oh, empty golden bowl I call my soul, + Filled now with the precious fruits of life and time, + Topped with the rosy spray of grace, + A rose, + As though dropped to me from the sky above, + A crowning thing, + Love, + I lift and hold you out, + An offering, + And close my eyes. + + MARY MCMILLAN + + +THE AUTUMN ROSE + + A Ghostly visitant, pale Autumn Rose, + Haunting my garden that you once loved well: + Ah, how you queened it ere the sweet June's close, + And blushed anew to hear the zephyrs tell + Your loveliness was fairer than a dream! + But now your pride of beauty is all gone, + And like some poor sad penitent you seem, + Whose drooping head but hides a visage wan + And wasted by the coldness of the world. + Upon your faint sweet breath is borne a sigh, + Within your petals lies a tear impearled; + I hear you to my garden say good-bye. + + A sudden wind--the pale rose-petals blow + Hither and yon--or are they flakes of snow? + + ANTOINETTE DE COURSEY PATTERSON + + +INDIAN SUMMER + + Lyric night of the lingering Indian Summer, + Shadowy fields that are scentless but full of singing, + Never a bird, but the passionless chant of insects, + Ceaseless, insistent. + + The grasshopper's horn, and far off, high in the maples + The wheel of a locust leisurely grinding the silence, + Under the moon waning and worn and broken, + Tired with summer. + + Let me remember you, voices of little insects, + Weeds in the moonlight, fields that are tangled with asters, + Let me remember you, soon will the winter be on us, + Snow-hushed and heartless. + + Over my soul murmur your mute benediction, + While I gaze, oh fields that rest after harvest, + As those who part look long in the eyes they lean to, + Lest they forget them. + + SARA TEASDALE + + +"FROST TO-NIGHT" + + Apple-green west and an orange bar, + And the crystal eye of a lone, one star ... + And, "Child, take the shears and cut what you will. + Frost to-night--so clear and dead-still." + + Then, I sally forth, half sad, half proud, + And I come to the velvet, imperial crowd, + The wine-red, the gold, the crimson, the pied,-- + The dahlias that reign by the garden-side. + + The dahlias I might not touch till to-night! + A gleam of the shears in the fading light, + And I gathered them all,--the splendid throng, + And in one great sheaf I bore them along. + + In my garden of Life with its all-late flowers + I heed a Voice in the shrinking hours: + "Frost to-night--so clear and dead-still ..." + Half sad, half proud, my arms I fill. + + EDITH M. THOMAS + + +NOVEMBER NIGHT + + Listen ... + With faint dry sound, + Like steps of passing ghosts, + The leaves, frost-crisp'd, break from the trees + And fall. + + ADELAIDE CRAPSEY + + +THE SNOW-GARDENS + + Like an empty stage + The gardens are empty and cold; + The marble terraces rise + Like vases that hold no flowers; + The lake is frozen, the fountain still; + The marble walls and the seats + Are useless and beautiful. + Ah, here + Where the wind and the dusk and the snow are + All is silent and white and sad! + Why do I think of you? + Why does your name remorselessly + Strike through my heart? + Why does my soul awaken and shudder? + Why do I seem to hear + Cries as lovely as music? + Surely you never came + Into these pale snow-gardens; + Surely you never stood + Here in the twilight with me; + Yet here I have lingered and dreamed + Of a face as subtle as music, + Of golden hair, and of eyes + Like a child's ... + I have felt on my brow + Your finger-tips, plaintive as music ... + O Wonder of all wonders, O Love-- + Wrought of sweet sounds and of dreaming!-- + Why do you not emerge + From the lilac pale petals of dusk, + And come to me here in the gardens + Where the wind and the snow are? + + Beauty and Peace are here-- + And unceasing music-- + And a loneliness chill and wistful, + Like the feeling of death. + + Like a crystal lily a star + Leans from its leaves of silver + And gleams in the sky; + And golden and faint in the shadows + You wait indistinctly,-- + Like a phantom lamp that appears + In the mirror of distance that hovers + By the window at twilight-- + You have come--and we stand together, + With questioning eyes-- + Dreaming and cold and ghostly + In an empty garden that seems + Like an empty stage. + + ZOË AKINS + + +A SONG FOR WINTER + + Speak not of snow and cold and rime + Now they prevail. + Would you have joy in winter-time, + Think of the pale + New green that comes, of blossoming lilacs think, + Larkspur, and borders of the fringèd pink. + And sing, if winter grants you heart to sing, + Of summer and of spring. + + Would you secure some happiness + In frosty hours, + Trust to the eye external less + Than to the powers + Of inward sight that even now may show + Opaline seas, blue hilltops, and the glow + Of daybreak on the glades where thrushes sing + In summer and in spring. + + Gaze not on fettered lake and brook + And sullen skies, + But in your happy memory look + Where beauty lies + As once it was, as it shall be again + When sunshine floods the fields of blowing grain, + And sing, as must who would in winter sing, + Of summer and of spring. + + MRS. SCHUYLER VAN RENSSELAER + + + + + WINGS AND SONG + + +"I MEANT TO DO MY WORK TO-DAY" + + _I meant to do my work to-day-- + But a brown bird sang in the apple-tree + And a butterfly flitted across the field, + And all the leaves were calling me._ + + _And the wind went sighing over the land, + Tossing the grasses to and fro, + And a rainbow held out its shining hand-- + So what could I do but laugh and go?_ + + RICHARD LE GALLIENNE + + +THE HUMMINGBIRD + + Through tree-top and clover a-whirr and away! + Hi! little rover, stop and stay. + + Merry, absurd, excited wag-- + Lilliput-bird in Brobdingnag! + + Wild and free as the wild thrush, and warier-- + Was ever a bee merrier, airier? + + Wings folded so, a second or two-- + Was ever a crow more solemn than you? + + A-whirr again over the garden, away! + Who calls, little rover, Bird or fay? + + Agleam and aglow, incarnate bliss! + What do you know that we humans miss? + + In the lily's chalice, what rune, what spell, + In the rose's palace, what do they tell + + (When the door you bob in, airily) + That they hush from the robin, hide from the bee?-- + + Fearing the crew of chatter and song, + And tell to you of the chantless tongue? + + Chantless! Ah, yes. Is that the sting + Masked in gay dress and whirring wing? + + Faith! But a wing of such airy stuff! + What need to sing? Here's music enough. + + A-whirr, and over tree-top, and through! + Hi! little rover, fair travel to you. + + Sweet, absurd, excited wag-- + Lilliput-bird in Brobdingnag! + + HERMANN HAGEDORN + + +SPRING SONG + + Softly at dawn a whisper stole + Down from the Green House on the Hill, + Enchanting many a ghostly bole + And wood song with the ancient thrill. + + Gossiping on the countryside, + Spring and the wandering breezes say + God has thrown heaven open wide + And let the thrushes out to-day. + + WILLIAM GRIFFITH + + +NIGHTINGALES + + At sunset my brown nightingales + Hidden and hushed all day, + Ring vespers, while the color pales + And fades to twilight gray: + The little mellow bells they ring, + The little flutes they play, + Are soft as though for practising + The things they want to say. + It's when the dark has floated down + To hide and guard and fold, + I know their throats that look so brown, + Are really made of gold. + No music I have ever heard + Can call as sweet as they! + I wonder if it _is_ a bird + That sings within the hidden tree, + Or some shy angel calling me + To follow far away? + + GRACE HAZARD CONKLING + + +THE GOLDFINCH + + Down from the sky on a sudden he drops + Into the mullein and juniper tops, + Flushed from his bath in the midsummer shine + Flooding the meadowland, drunk with the wine + Spilled from the urns of the blue, like a bold + Sky-buccaneer in his sable and gold. + + Lightly he sways on the pendulous stem, + Vividly restless, a fluttering gem, + Then with a flash of bewildering wings + Dazzles away up and down, and he sings + Clear as a bell at each dip as he flies + Bounding along on the wave of the skies. + + Sunlight and laughter, a wingèd desire, + Motion and melody married to fire, + Lighter than thistle-tuft borne on the wind, + Frailer than violets, how shall we find + Words that will match him, discover a name + Meet for this marvel, this lyrical flame? + + How shall we fashion a rhythm to wing with him, + Find us a wonderful music to sing with him + Fine as his rapture is, free as the rollicking + Song that the harlequin drops in his frolicking + Dance through the summer sky, singing so merrily + High in the burning blue, winging so airily? + + ODELL SHEPARD + + +KINFOLK + + O, we are Kinfolk, she and I,-- + The little mother-bird all brown, + Who broods above her nest on high, + And with her soft, bright eyes looks down + To read the secret of my heart,-- + We two from all the world apart! + + She dreams there in her swaying nest; + I dream here 'neath my sheltering vine. + The same love stirs her feathered breast + That makes my heart-throb seem divine. + We both dream 'neath the same kind sky,-- + The small brown mother-bird, and I. + + KATE WHITING PATCH + + +A MOCKING-BIRD + + An arrow, feathery, alive, + He darts and sings,-- + Then with a sudden skimming dive + Of striped wings + He finds a pine and, debonair, + Makes with his mate + All birds that ever rested there + Articulate. + + The whisper of a multitude + Of happy wings + Is round him, a returning brood, + Each time he sings. + Though heaven be not for them or him + Yet he is wise, + And daily tiptoes on the rim + Of paradise. + + WITTER BYNNER + + +THE CARDINAL-BIRD + + Where snow-drifts are deepest he frolics along, + A flicker of crimson, a chirrup of song, + My Cardinal-Bird of the frost-powdered wing, + Composing new lyrics to whistle in Spring. + + A plump little prelate, the park is his church; + The pulpit he loves is a cliff-sheltered birch; + And there, in his rubicund livery dressed, + Arranging his feathers and ruffling his crest, + + He preaches, with most unconventional glee, + A sermon addressed to the squirrels and me, + Commending the wisdom of those that display + The brightest of colors when heavens are gray. + + ARTHUR GUITERMAN + + +YELLOW WARBLERS + + The first faint dawn was flushing up the skies, + When, dreamland still bewildering mine eyes, + I looked out to the oak that, winter-long,-- + A winter wild with war and woe and wrong,-- + Beyond my casement had been void of song. + + And lo! with golden buds the twigs were set, + Live buds that warbled like a rivulet + Beneath a veil of willows. Then I knew + Those tiny voices, clear as drops of dew, + Those flying daffodils that fleck the blue, + + Those sparkling visitants from myrtle isles-- + Wee pilgrims of the sun, that measured miles + Innumerable over land and sea + With wings of shining inches. Flakes of glee, + They filled that dark old oak with jubilee, + + Foretelling in delicious roundelays + Their dainty courtships on the dipping sprays, + How they should fashion nests, mate helping mate, + Of milkweed flax and fern-down delicate, + To keep sky-tinted eggs inviolate. + + Listening to those blithe notes, I slipped once more + From lyric dawn through dreamland's open door, + And there was God, Eternal Life that sings + Eternal joy, brooding all mortal things, + A nest of stars, beneath untroubled wings. + + KATHARINE LEE BATES + + +WITCHERY + + Out of the purple drifts, + From the shadow sea of night, + On tides of musk a moth uplifts + Its weary wings of white. + + Is it a dream or ghost + Of a dream that comes to me, + Here in the twilight on the coast, + Blue cinctured by the sea? + + Fashioned of foam and froth-- + And the dream is ended soon, + And, lo, whence came the moon-white moth + Comes now the moth-white moon! + + FRANK DEMPSTER SHERMAN + + +THE SPRING BEAUTIES + + The Puritan Spring Beauties stood freshly clad for church; + A Thrush, white-breasted, o'er them sat singing on his perch. + "Happy be! for fair are ye!" the gentle singer told them, + But presently a buff-coat Bee came booming up to scold them. + "Vanity, oh, vanity! + Young maids, beware of vanity!" + Grumbled out the buff-coat Bee, + Half parson-like, half soldierly. + + The sweet-faced maidens trembled, with pretty, pinky blushes, + Convinced that it was wicked to listen to the Thrushes; + And when, that shady afternoon, I chanced that way to pass, + They hung their little bonnets down and looked into the grass. + All because the buff-coat Bee + Lectured them so solemnly:-- + "Vanity, oh, vanity! + Young maids, beware of vanity!" + + HELEN GRAY CONE + + +THE MOCKING-BIRD + + He didn't know much music + When first he come along; + An' all the birds went wonderin' + Why he didn't sing a song. + + They primped their feathers in the sun, + An' sung their sweetest notes; + An' music jest come on the run + From all their purty throats! + + But still that bird was silent + In summer time an' fall; + He jest set still and listened, + An' he wouldn't sing at all! + + But one night when them songsters + Was tired out an' still, + An' the wind sighed down the valley + An' went creepin' up the hill; + + When the stars was all a-tremble + In the dreamin' fields o' blue, + An' the daisy in the darkness-- + Felt the fallin' o' the dew,-- + + There come a sound o' melody + No mortal ever heard, + An' all the birds seemed singin' + From the throat o' one sweet bird! + + Then the other birds went Mayin' + In a land too fur to call; + For there warn't no use in stayin' + When one bird could sing for all! + + FRANK L. STANTON + + +THE MESSENGER + + Bee! tell me whence do you come? + Ten fields away, twenty perhaps, + Have heard your hum. + + If you are from the north, you may + Have passed my mother's roof of straw + Upon your way. + + If you came from the south you should + Have seen another cottage just + Inside the wood. + + And should you go back that way, please + Carry a message to the house + Among the trees. + + Say--I will wait her at the rock + Beside the stream, this very night + At eight o'clock. + + And ask your queen when you get home + To send my queen the present of + A honey-comb. + + JAMES STEPHENS + + +FIREFLIES + + Fireflies, Fireflies, little glinting creatures, + Making night lovely with a rain of gold, + Born of the moonbeams, children all unearthly, + Ah how you vanish from a look too bold! + + Fireflies, Fireflies, lovely as our dreams are, + Sewn with such fancies from the years gone by, + Wayward, elusive, as the playful zephyrs, + Hiding mid grasses, gleaming in the sky. + + Fireflies, Fireflies, like unto the silent + Brown nuns who gather for the dead to pray, + As theirs your mission; holy, too, your tapers, + Souls of dead flowers lighting on their way. + + ANTOINETTE DE COURSEY PATTERSON + + +JULY MIDNIGHT + + Fireflies flicker in the tops of trees, + Flicker in the lower branches, + Skim along the ground. + Over the moon-white lilies + Is a flashing and ceasing of small, lemon-green stars. + As you lean against me, + Moon-white, + The air all about you + Is slit, and pricked, and pointed with sparkles of lemon-green flame + Starting out of a background of great vague trees. + + AMY LOWELL + + +THE CRICKET IN THE PATH + + She passed through the shadowy garden, so tall and so white, + Her eyes on the stars and her face like an angel's upturned, + And it seemed to my thought that the dusk round her head with the + light + Of an aureole burned. + + But where she had trodden unseeing, I found on the path + A cricket, so frail that her light foot had maimed it, yet strong + To valiantly pipe, tiny hero, a faint aftermath + Of its yesterday song. + + And I whispered, "Alas, Little Brother, why must it befall + That the passing of angels but cripples and leaves us to die? + Poor imp of the greensward, God trumpets me clear in thy call; + Thou art braver than I. + + "The Bright Ones of Heaven have trodden me down as they passed; + I crawl in their footsteps a trampled and impotent thing. + I know not the reason, nor question henceforth. To the last, + While I live, I will sing." + + AMELIA JOSEPHINE BURR + + +REST AT NOON + + Now with a re-created mind + Back to the world my way I find; + + Fed by the hills one little hour, + By meadow-slope and beechen-bower, + + Cedar serene, benignant larch, + Hoar mountains and the azure arch + + Where dazzling vapors make vast sport + In God's profound and spacious court. + + The universe played with me. Earth + Harped to high heaven her sweetest mirth; + + The clouds built castles for my pleasure, + And airy legions without measure + + Flung, spindrift-wise, across the sky + To thrill my heart once and to die. + + I have held converse with large things; + For cherubim with cooling wings + + Brushed me, and gay stars, hid from view, + Called through the arras of the blue + + And clapped their hands: "These veils uproll! + And see the comrades of your soul!" + + The very flowers that ringed my bed + Their little "God-be-with-you" said, + + And every insect, bird and bee + Brought cool cups from eternity. + + HERMANN HAGEDORN + + +ORDER + + It is half-past eight on the blossomy bush: + The petals are spread for a sunning; + The little gold fly is scrubbing his face; + The spider is nervously running + To fasten a thread; the night-going moth + Is folding his velvet perfection; + And presently over the clover will come + The bee on a tour of inspection. + + PAUL SCOTT MOWRER + + +THE NIGHT-MOTH + + My night-moth, my white moth, out of the fragrant dark + Blowing in and growing like a dim star-spark, + So swift in the shifting of your elfin wings, + So slight in your lighting, as a flower that clings, + As a boat to ride the dew, with sheer up-bearing sails, + Pulsing and breathing, rocked with delicate gales,-- + You gleam as a dream, by my window's light, + My white moth, my bright moth, my wandering wraith of night. + + From the velvet screening of a great gray cloud + The moon floats swiftly, white and open-browed, + Flooding cloud and water with her shining trail, + Till the night shrinks, sighing, behind the radiant veil; + The night, with her shy soul, to the deep wood slips-- + Her shy soul, her high soul, shrine of all the stars; + And you fly, like the sigh from her tender lips, + Athwart the wavering shadows, beating the silver bars; + You fleet in the meeting of the dark and bright, + My light moth, my white moth, spark from the soul of night. + + MARION COUTHOUY SMITH + + +THE BUTTERFLY + + O winged brother on the harebell, stay-- + Was God's hand very pitiful, the hand + That wrought thy beauty at a dream's demand? + _Yes, knowing I love so well the flowery way, + He did not fling me to the world astray-- + He did not drop me to the weary sand, + But bore me gently to a leafy land: + Tinting my wings, He gave me to the day._ + + Oh, chide no more my doubting, my despair! + I will go back now to the world of men. + Farewell, I leave thee to the world of air, + Yet thou hast girded up my heart again; + For He that framed the impenetrable plan, + And keeps His word with thee, will keep with man. + + EDWIN MARKHAM + + +THE SECRET + + O, little bird, you sing + As if all months were June; + Pray tell me ere you go + The secret of your tune? + + "I have no hidden word + To tell, nor mystic art; + I only know I sing + The song within my heart!" + + ARTHUR WALLACE PEACH + + + + + THE GARDENS OF YESTERDAY + + +THE GARDEN + + _Old gardens have a language of their own, + And mine sweet speech to linger in the heart. + A goodly place it is and primly spaced, + With straight box-bordered paths and squares of bloom. + Bay-trees by rows of antique urns tell tales + Of one who loved the gardens Dante loved. + Magnolias edge the placid lily-pool + And flank the sagging seat, whence vista leads + To blaze of rhododendrons banked in green. + Azaleas by the scarlet quince flame up + Against the lustrous grape-vines trellised high + To pigeon-cote and old brick wall where hide + First snowdrops and the bravest violets. + A place of solitudes whose silences + Enfold the heart as an unquiet bird._ + + GERTRUDE HUNTINGTON MCGIFFERT + + +OLD HOMES + + Old homes among the hills! I love their gardens; + Their old rock fences, that our day inherits; + Their doors, round which the great trees stand like wardens; + Their paths, down which the shadows march like spirits; + Broad doors and paths that reach bird-haunted gardens. + + I see them gray among their ancient acres, + Severe of front, their gables lichen-sprinkled,-- + Like gentle-hearted, solitary Quakers, + Grave and religious, with kind faces wrinkled,-- + Serene among their memory-hallowed acres. + + Their gardens, banked with roses and with lilies-- + Those sweet aristocrats of all the flowers-- + Where Springtime mints her gold in daffodillies, + And Autumn coins her marigolds in showers, + And all the hours are toilless as the lilies. + + I love their orchards where the gay woodpecker + Flits, flashing o'er you, like a wingèd jewel; + Their woods, whose floors of moss the squirrels checker + With half-hulled nuts; and where, in cool renewal, + The wild brooks laugh, and raps the red woodpecker. + + Old homes! Old hearts! Upon my soul forever + Their peace and gladness lie like tears and laughter; + Like love they touch me, through the years that sever, + With simple faith; like friendship, draw me after + The dreamy patience that is theirs forever. + + MADISON CAWEIN + + +A PURITAN LADY'S GARDEN + + This fairy pleasance in the brake-- + This maze run wild of flower and vine-- + Our fathers planted for the sake + Of eyes that longed for English gardens + Amid the virgin wastes of pine. + + Here, by the broken, moldering wall, + Where still the tiger-lilies ride, + Once grew the crown imperial, + The tall blue larkspur, white Queen Margaret, + Prince's-feather, and mourning bride. + + Beyond their pale, a humbler throng, + Grew Bouncing Bet and columbine; + The mountain fringe ran all along + The thick-set hedge of cinnamon roses, + And overhung the eglantine. + + And Sunday flowers were here as well-- + Adam-and-Eve within their hood, + The stately Canterbury bell, + And, oft in churches breathing fragrance, + The sweet and pungent southernwood. + + When ships for England cleared the bay, + If long beside these reefs of foam + She stood, and watched them sail away, + It was her garden first enticed her + To turn, and call this country "home." + + SARAH N. CLEGHORN + + +THE OLD-FASHIONED GARDEN + + Among the meadows of the countryside, + From city noise and tumult far away, + Where clover-blossoms spread their fragrance wide + And birds are warbling all the sunny day, + There is a spot which lovingly I prize, + For there a fair and sweet old-fashioned country garden lies. + + The gray old mansion down beside the lane + Stands knee-deep in the fields that lie around + And scent the air with hay and ripening grain. + Behind the manse box-hedges mark the bound + And close the garden in, or nearly close, + For on beyond the hollyhocks an olden orchard grows. + + So bright and lovely is the dear old place, + It seems as though the country's very heart + Were centered here, and that its antique grace + Must ever hold it from the world apart. + Immured it lies among the meadows deep, + Its flowery stillness beautiful and calm as softest sleep. + + The morning-glories ripple o'er the hedge + And fleck its greenness with their tinted foam; + Sweet wilding things, up to the garden's edge + They love to wander from their meadow home, + To take what little pleasure here they may + Ere all their silken trumpets close before the warm midday. + + The larkspur lifts on high its azure spires, + And up the arbor's lattices are rolled + The quaint nasturtium's many-colored fires; + The tall carnation's breast of faded gold + Is striped with many a faintly-flushing streak, + Pale as the tender tints that blush upon a baby's cheek. + + The old sweet-rocket sheds its fine perfumes, + With golden stars the coreopsis flames, + And here are scores of sweet old-fashioned blooms, + Dear for the very fragrance of their names,-- + Poppies and gilly flowers and four-o'clocks, + Cowslips and candytuft and heliotrope and hollyhocks, + + Harebells and peonies and dragon-head, + Petunias, scarlet sage and bergamot, + Verbenas, ragged-robins, soft gold-thread, + The bright primrose and pale forget-me-not, + Wall-flowers and crocuses and columbines, + Narcissus, asters, hyacinths, and honeysuckle vines. + + * * * * * + + A sweet seclusion this of sun and shade, + A calm asylum from the busy world, + Where greed and restless care do ne'er invade, + Nor news of 'change and mart each morning hurled + Round half the globe; no noise of party feud + Disturbs this peaceful spot nor mars its perfect quietude. + + But summer after summer comes and goes + And leaves the garden ever fresh and fair; + May brings the tulip, golden June the rose, + And August winds shake down the mellow pear. + Man blooms and blossoms, fades and disappears,-- + But scarce a tribute pays the garden to the passing years. + + * * * * * + + Sweet is the odor of the warm, soft rain + In violet-days when spring opes her green heart; + And sweet the apple trees along the lane + Whose lovely blossoms all too soon depart; + And sweet the brimming dew that overfills + The golden chalices of all the trembling daffodils. + + But sweeter far, in this old garden-close + To loiter 'mid the lovely old-time flowers, + To breathe the scent of lavender and rose, + And with old poets pass the peaceful hours. + Old gardens and old poets,--happy he + Whose quiet summer days are spent in such sweet company! + + JOHN RUSSELL HAYES + + +A COLONIAL GARDEN + + Down this pathway, through the shade, + Lightly tripped the dainty maid, + In her eyes the smile of June, + On her lips some old sweet tune. + Through yon ragged rows of box, + By that awkward clump of phlox, + To her favorite pansy bed + Like a ray of light, she sped. + Satin slippers trim and neat + Gleamed upon her slender feet; + Round her ankles, deftly tied, + Ribbons crossed from side to side, + Here her pinks, old fashioned, fair, + Breathed their fragrance on the air; + There her fluttering azure gown + Shook the poppy's petals down. + Here a rose, with fond caress, + Stooped to touch a truant tress + From her fillet struggling free, + Scorning its captivity. + There a bed of rue was set + With an edge of mignonette, + And the spicy bergamot + Meshed the frail forget-me-not. + Honeysuckles, hollyhocks, + Bachelor's buttons, four-o'clocks, + Marigolds and blue-eyed grass + Curtsied when the maid did pass. + Now the braggart weeds have spread + Through the paths she loved to tread, + And the creeping moss has grown + O'er yon shattered dial-stone. + Still beside the ruined walks + Some old flowers, on sturdy stalks, + Dream of her whose happy eyes + Roam the fields of paradise. + + JAMES B. KENYON + + +IN MY MOTHER'S GARDEN + + There were many flowers in my mother's garden, + Sword-leaved gladiolas, taller far than I, + Sticky-leaved petunias, pink and purple flaring, + Velvet-painted pansies smiling at the sky; + + Scentless portulacas crowded down the borders, + White and scarlet-petalled, rose and satin-gold, + Clustered sweet alyssum, lacy-white and scented, + Sprays of gray-green lavender to keep 'til you were old. + + In my mother's garden were green-leaved hiding-places, + Nooks between the lilacs--oh, a pleasant place to play! + Still my heart can hide there, still my eyes can dream it, + Though the long years lie between and I am far away; + + When the world is hard now, when the city's clanging + Tires my eyes and tires my heart and dust lies everywhere, + I can dream the peace still of the soft wind's blowing, + I can be a child still and hide my heart from care. + + Lord, if still that garden blossoms in the sunlight, + Grant that children laugh there now among its green and gold-- + Grant that little hearts still hide its memoried sweetness, + Locking one bright dream away for light when they are old! + + MARGARET WIDDEMER + + +TO THE SWEETWILLIAM + + I search the poet's honied lines, + And not in vain, for columbines; + And not in vain for other flowers + That sanctify the many bowers + Unsanctified by human souls. + See where the larkspur lifts among + The thousand blossoms finely sung, + Still blossoming in the fragrant scrolls! + Charity, eglantine, and rue + And love-in-a-mist are all in view, + With coloured cousins; but where are you, + Sweetwilliam? + + The lily and the rose have books + Devoted to their lovely looks, + And wit has fallen in vital showers + Through England's most miraculous hours + To keep them fresh a thousand years. + The immortal library can show + The violet's well-thumbed folio + Stained tenderly by girls in tears. + The shelf where Genius stands in view + Has brier and daffodil and rue + And love-lies-bleeding; but not you, + Sweetwilliam. + + Thus, if I seek the classic line + For marybuds, 'tis, Shakespeare, thine! + And ever is the primrose born + 'Neath Goldsmith's overhanging thorn. + In Herrick's breastknot I can see + The apple-blossom, fresh and fair + As when he plucked and put it there, + Heedless of Time's anthology. + So flower by flower comes into view + Kept fadeless by the Olympian dew + For startled eyes; and yet not you, + Sweetwilliam. + + * * * * * + + Though gods of song have let you be, + Bloom in my little book for me. + Unwont to stoop or lean, you show + An undefeated heart, and grow + As pluckily as cedars. Heat + And cold, and winds that make + Tumbledown sallies, cannot shake + Your resolution to be sweet. + Then take this song, be it born to die + Ere yet the unwedded butterfly + Has glimpsed a darling in the sky, + Sweetwilliam! + + NORMAN GALE + + +ROSE-GERANIUM + + A pungent spray of rose-geranium-- + A breath of the old life. + + It brings up the little five-room cottage where I was born, + And where I grew through a smiling childhood. + The white-bearded grandfather sits in his mended rocking-chair, + His eyes far off, crooning "The Sweet By and By," + Marked with the tapping of his toe upon the weathered porch-floor, + While the sunshine drizzles through the great oaks. + + And there is my grandmother's kneeling figure, + Turning over the rich black earth with her trowel; + And the kind wrinkles on her face, as she says: + "Didn't the pansies do finely this year, Clem? + And the scarlet verbenas, and the larkspurs, + And the row of flaming salvia.... + Those roses ... they're Maréchal Niels ... my favorites. + And little grandson, smell this spray of rose-geranium-- + Just think, when grandmother was a little tiny girl + Her grandmother grew them in her yard!" + + CLEMENT WOOD + + +FOUR O'CLOCKS + + It is mid-afternoon. Long, long ago + Each morning-glory sheathed the slender horn + It blew so gayly on the hills of morn, + And fainted in the noontide's fervid glow. + + Gone are the dew-drops from the rose's heart-- + Gone with the freshness of the early hours, + The songs that filled the air with silver showers, + The lovely dreams that were of morn a part. + + Yet still in tender light the garden lies; + The warm, sweet winds are whispering soft and low; + Brown bees and butterflies flit to and fro; + The peace of heaven is in the o'erarching skies. + + And here be four-o'clocks, just opening wide + Their many colored petals to the sun, + As glad to live as if the evening dun + Were far away, and morning had not died! + + JULIA C. R. DORR + + +ASKING FOR ROSES + + A house that lacks, seemingly, mistress and master, + With doors that none but the wind ever closes, + Its floor all littered with glass and with plaster; + It stands in a garden of old-fashioned roses. + + I pass by that way in the gloaming with Mary; + "I wonder," I say, "who the owner of those is." + "Oh, no one you know," she answers me airy, + "But one we must ask if we want any roses." + + So we must join hands in the dew coming coldly + There in the hush of the wood that reposes, + And turn and go up to the open door boldly, + And knock to the echoes as beggars for roses. + + "Pray, are you within there, Mistress Who-were-you?" + 'Tis Mary that speaks and our errand discloses. + "Pray are you within there? Bestir you, bestir you! + 'Tis summer again; there's two come for roses. + + "A word with you, that of the singer recalling-- + Old Herrick: a saying that every man knows is + A flower unplucked is but left to the falling, + And nothing is gained by not gathering roses." + + We do not loosen our hands' intertwining + (Not caring so very much what she supposes), + There when she comes on us mistily shining + And grants us by silence the boon of her roses. + + ROBERT FROST + + +THE OLD BROCADE + + In a black oak chest all carven, + We found it laid, + Still faintly sweet of Lavender, + An old brocade. + With that perfume came a vision, + A garden fair, + Enclosed by great yew hedges; + A Lady there, + Is culling fresh blown lavender, + And singing goes + Up and down the alleys green-- + A human rose. + The sun glints on her auburn hair + And brightens, too, + The silver buckles that adorn + Each little shoe. + Her 'kerchief and her elbow sleeves + Are cobweb lace; + Her gown, it is our old brocade, + Worn with a grace. + Methinks I hear its soft frou-frou, + And see the sheen + Of its dainty pink moss-rose buds, + Their leaves soft green, + On a ground of palest shell pink, + In garlands laid; + But long dead the Rose who wore it-- + The old brocade. + + M. G. BRERETON + + +STAIRWAYS AND GARDENS + + Gardens and Stairways; those are words that thrill me + Always with vague suggestions of delight. + Stairways and Gardens. Mystery and grace + Seem part of their environment; they fill all space + With memories of things veiled from my sight + In some far place. + + Gardens. The word is overcharged with meaning; + It speaks of moonlight, and a closing door; + Of birds at dawn--of sultry afternoons. + Gardens. I seem to see low branches screening + A vine-roofed arbor with a leaf-tiled floor + Where sunlight swoons. + + Stairways. The word winds upward to a landing, + Then curves and vanishes in space above. + Lights fall, lights rise; soft lights that meet and blend. + Stairways; and some one at the bottom standing + Expectantly with lifted looks of love. + Then steps descend. + + Gardens and Stairways. They belong with song-- + With subtle scents of perfume, myrrh and musk-- + With dawn and dusk--with youth, romance, and mystery, + And times that were and times that are to be. + Stairways and Gardens. + + ELLA WHEELER WILCOX + + +OLD MOTHERS + + I love old mothers--mothers with white hair, + And kindly eyes, and lips grown softly sweet + With murmured blessings over sleeping babes. + There is a something in their quiet grace + That speaks the calm of Sabbath afternoons; + A knowledge in their deep, unfaltering eyes + That far outreaches all philosophy. + Time, with caressing touch, about them weaves + The silver-threaded fairy-shawl of age, + While all the echoes of forgotten songs + Seem joined to lend a sweetness to their speech. + Old mothers!--as they pace with slow-timed step, + Their trembling hands cling gently to youth's strength; + Sweet mothers!--as they pass, one sees again + Old garden-walks, old roses, and old loves. + + CHARLES ROSS + + + + + PASTURES AND HILLSIDES + + +SONG FROM "APRIL" + + _I know + Where the wind flowers blow! + I know, + I have been + Where the wild honey bees + Gather honey for their queen!_ + + _I would be + A wild flower, + Blue sky over me, + For an hour ... an hour! + So the wild bees + Should seek and discover me, + And kiss me ... kiss me ... kiss me! + Not one of the dusky dears should miss me!_ + + _I know + Where the wind flowers blow! + I know, + I have been + Where the little rabbits run + In the warm, yellow sun!_ + + _Oh, to be a wild flower + For an hour ... an hour ... + In the heather! + A bright flower, a wild flower, + Blown by the weather!_ + + _I know, + I have been + Where the wild honey bees + Gather Honey for their queen!_ + + IRENE RUTHERFORD MCLEOD + + +THE ROAD TO THE POOL + + I know a road that leads from town, + A pale road in a Watteau gown + Of wild-rose sprays, that runs away + All fragrant-sandaled, slim and gray. + + It slips along the laurel grove + And down the hill, intent to rove, + And crooks an arm of shadow cool + Around a willow-silvered pool. + + I never travel very far + Beyond the pool where willows are: + There is a shy and native grace + That hovers all about the place, + + And resting there I hardly know + Just where it was I meant to go, + Contented like the road that dozes + In panniered gown of briar roses. + + GRACE HAZARD CONKLING + + +THE WILD ROSE + + Summer has crossed the fields, and where she trod + Violets bloom; the dancing wind-flowers nod, + And daisies blossom all across the sod. + + She passed the brook, and in their glad surprise + The first forget-me-nots smiled at the skies + And caught the very color of her eyes. + + But, sleeping in the meadow-land, she pressed + The dear wild rose so closely to her breast + It stole her heart--and so she loves it best. + + CHARLES BUXTON GOING + + +UP A HILL AND A HILL + + Up a hill and a hill there's a sudden orchard-slope, + And a little tawny field in the sun; + There's a gray wall that coils like a twist of frayed-out rope, + And grasses nodding news one to one. + + Up a hill and a hill there's a windy place to stand, + And between the apple-boughs to find the blue + Of the sleepy summer sea, past the cliffs of orange sand, + With the white charmèd ships sliding through. + + Up a hill and a hill there's a little house as gray + As a stone that the glaciers scored and stained; + With a red rose by the door, and a tangled garden-way, + And a face at the window, checker-paned. + + I could climb, I could climb, till the shoes fell off my feet, + Just to find that tawny field above the sea! + Up a hill and a hill,--oh, the honeysuckle's sweet! + And the eyes at the window watch for me! + + FANNIE STEARNS DAVIS + + +THE JOYS OF A SUMMER MORNING + + The smell of the morning that lurks in the hay, + The swish of the scythe + And the roundelay + Of the meadow-lark as he wings away, + Are the joys of a summer morning. + + The daisy's bloom on the meadow's breast, + The wandering bee + And his ceaseless quest + Of the tempting sweets in the clover's crest, + Are the joys of a summer morning. + + The lowing kine on a distant hill, + The rollicking fall + Of the near-by rill + And the lazy drone of the ancient mill, + Are the joys of a summer morning. + + The feathery clouds in a faultless sky, + The new-risen sun + With its kindly eye + And the woodland breezes floating by, + Are the joys of a summer morning. + + HENRY A. WISE WOOD + + +SOUTH WIND + + Where have you been, South Wind, this May-day morning, + With larks aloft, or skimming with the swallow, + Or with blackbirds in a green, sun-glinted thicket? + + Oh, I heard you like a tyrant in the valley; + Your ruffian hosts shook the young, blossoming orchards; + You clapped rude hands, hallooing round the chimney, + And white your pennons streamed along the river. + + You have robbed the bee, South Wind, in your adventure, + Blustering with gentle flowers; but I forgave you + When you stole to me shyly with scent of hawthorn. + + SIEGFRIED SASSOON + + +TO A WEED + + You bold thing! thrusting 'neath the very nose + Of her fastidious majesty, the rose, + Even in the best ordainèd garden bed, + Unauthorized, your smiling little head! + + The gardener, mind! will come in his big boots, + And drag you up by your rebellious roots, + And cast you forth to shrivel in the sun, + Your daring quelled, your little weed's life done. + + And when the noon cools, and the sun drops low, + He'll come again with his big wheelbarrow, + And trundle you--I don't know clearly where, + But off, outside the dew, the light, the air. + + Meantime--ah, yes! the air is very blue, + And gold the light, and diamond the dew,-- + You laugh and courtesy in your worthless way, + And you are gay, ah, so exceeding gay! + + You argue in your manner of a weed, + You did not make yourself grow from a seed, + You fancy you've a claim to standing-room, + You dream yourself a right to breathe and bloom. + + The sun loves you, you think, just as the rose, + He never scorned you for a weed,--he knows! + The green-gold flies rest on you and are glad, + It's only cross old gardeners find you bad. + + You know, you weed, I quite agree with you, + I am a weed myself, and I laugh too,-- + Both, just as long as we can shun his eye, + Let's sniff at the old gardener trudging by! + + GERTRUDE HALL + + +THE PASTURE + + I'm going out to clean the pasture spring; + I'll only stop to rake the leaves away + (And wait to watch the water clear, I may): + I sha'n't be gone long.--You come too. + + I'm going out to fetch the little calf + That's standing by the mother. It's so young, + It totters when she licks it with her tongue. + I sha'n't be gone long.--You come too. + + ROBERT FROST + + +THE THISTLE + + Ha, prickle-armèd knight, + How oft the world hath cursed thee, + Thou pestilence of Earth, + The beldame who hath nursed thee! + + Hath hellish Proserpine + Her needs lent to arm thee + That mischief-loving gods, + Pricked sorely, may not harm thee? + + Or hath the mirthful Love + Presented thee his pinions + To dress thy tiny seeds, + The curse of man's dominions! + + Thou like a maiden art + Who best can find protection + Employed at needlework + From idleness' infection. + + And like a prude thou art + When he who loves embraces; + Thou dost repel with thorns + And she with sharper phrases. + + And like the wraith thou art + Wherewith my heart is haunted; + Ye both take most delight + Where ye the least are wanted. + + MILES M. DAWSON + + +CLOVER + + Little masters, hat in hand, + Let me in your presence stand, + Till your silence solve for me + This your threefold mystery. + + Tell me--for I long to know-- + How, in darkness there below, + Was your fairy fabric spun, + Spread and fashioned, three in one. + + Did your gossips gold and blue, + Sky and Sunshine, choose for you, + Ere your triple forms were seen, + Suited liveries of green? + + Can ye--if ye dwelt indeed + Captives of a prison seed-- + Like the Genie, once again + Get you back into the grain? + + Little masters, may I stand + In your presence, hat in hand, + Waiting till you solve for me + This your threefold mystery? + + JOHN B. TABB + + +WILD GARDENS + + On the ripened grass is a bloomy mist + Of silver and rose and amethyst + Where the long June wave has run. + + There are glints of copper and tarnished brass, + And hyacinthine flames that pass + From the green fires of the sun. + + This web of a thousand gleams and glows + Was woven silently out of the snows + And the patient shine and rain. + + It was fashioned cunningly day by day + From the silken spear to the pollened spray + With its folded sheaths of grain. + + Oh, garden of grasses deep and wild, + So dear to the vagrant and the child + And the singer of an hour. + + To the wayworn soul you give your balm, + Your cup of peace, your stringèd psalm, + Your grace of bud and flower. + + ADA FOSTER MURRAY + + +THE DANDELION + + O dandelion, rich and haughty, + King of village flowers! + Each day is coronation time, + You have no humble hours. + I like to see you bring a troop + To beat the blue-grass spears, + To scorn the lawn-mower that would be + Like fate's triumphant shears. + Your yellow heads are cut away, + It seems your reign is o'er. + By noon you raise a sea of stars + More golden than before. + + VACHEL LINDSAY + + +JOE-PYEWEED + + And the name brings back those kindly hills + And the drowsing life so new to me; + And the welcome that those purple blossoms + With their tiny trumpets blew to me. + + Stout and tall, they raised their clustered heads, + Leaping, as a lusty fellow would, + Through the lowlands, down the twisting cow-paths; + Running past the green and yellow wood. + + How they come again--those rambling roads; + And the weeds' wild jewels glowing there. + Richer than a Paradise of flowers + Was that bit of pasture growing there. + + Weeds--the very names call up those faint + Half-forgotten smells and cries again ... + Weeds--like some old charm, I say them over, + And the rolling Berkshires rise again: + + _Basil, Boneset, Toadflax, Tansy, + Weeds of every form and fancy; + Milk-weed, Mullein, Loose-strife, Jewel-weed, + Mustard, Thimble-weed, Tear-thumb (a cruel weed). + Clovers in all sorts--Nonesuch, Melilot; + Staring Buttercups, a bold and yellow lot. + Daisies rioting about the place + With Black-eyed Susan and Queen Anne's Lace...._ + + Names--they blossom into colored hills; + Hills whose rousing beauty flows to me ... + And with all its soundless, purple trumpets, + Lo, the Joe-Pyeweed still blows to me! + + LOUIS UNTERMEYER + + +TO A DAISY + + Slight as thou art, thou art enough to hide + Like all created things, secrets from me, + And stand a barrier to eternity. + And I, how can I praise thee well and wide + + From where I dwell--upon the hither side? + Thou little veil for so great mystery, + When shall I penetrate all things and thee, + And then look back? For this I must abide, + + Till thou shalt grow and fold and be unfurled + Literally between me and the world. + Then I shall drink from in beneath a spring, + + And from a poet's side shall read his book. + O daisy mine, what will it be to look + From God's side even of such a simple thing? + + ALICE MEYNELL + + +A SOFT DAY + + A soft day, thank God! + A wind from the south + With a honeyed mouth; + A scent of drenching leaves, + Briar and beech and lime, + White elder-flower and thyme + And the soaking grass smells sweet, + Crushed by my two bare feet, + While the rain drips, + Drips, drips, drips from the eaves. + + A soft day, thank God! + The hills wear a shroud + Of silver cloud; + The web the spider weaves + Is a glittering net; + The woodland path is wet, + And the soaking earth smells sweet + Under my two bare feet, + And the rain drips, + Drips, drips, drips from the eaves. + + W. M. LETTS + + +ARBUTUS + + Not Spring's + Thou art, but hers, + Most cool, most virginal, + Winter's, with thy faint breath, thy snows + Rose-tinged. + + ADELAIDE CRAPSEY + + +JEWEL-WEED + + Thou lonely, dew-wet mountain road, + Traversed by toiling feet each day, + What rare enchantment maketh thee + Appear so gay? + + Thy sentinels, on either hand + Rise tamarack, birch, and balsam-fir, + O'er the familiar shrubs that greet + The wayfarer; + + But here's a magic cometh new-- + A joy to gladden thee, indeed: + This passionate out-flowering of + The jewel-weed, + + That now, when days are growing drear, + As Summer dreams that she is old, + Hangs out a myriad pleasure-bells + Of mottled gold! + + Thine only, these, thou lonely road! + Though hands that take, and naught restore, + Rob thee of other treasured things, + Thine these are, for + + A fairy, cradled in each bloom, + To all who pass the charmèd spot + Whispers in warning: "Friend, admire,-- + But touch me not! + + "Leave me to blossom where I sprung, + A joy untarnished shall I seem; + Pluck me, and you dispel the charm + And blur the dream!" + + FLORENCE EARLE COATES + + +THE WALL + +"_Something there is that doesn't like a wall._" (ROBERT FROST) + + "Not like a wall?" + I sit above the meadow in the glowing fall + Tracing the grey redoubt from square to square + Which bound the acres harvest-ripe and fair,-- + And wonder if it's true? + Nay, ask the sumac and the teeming vine, + That lean upon the boulders, + The crimsoning ivy and the wild woodbine + Whose eager fingers clutch the stony shoulders, + The golden rod, the aster and the rue. + Ask the red squirrel with the chubby cheek + Skipping from stone to stone + By a quick route, his hidden hoard to seek, + Making the little viaduct his own. + Look where the woodchuck lifts a cautious head + Between the rocks close by the cabbage bed; + The honey-bees have built a secret hive + In a forgotten chink; + And there a grey cocoon is tucked away + Shrouding a miracle in mauve and pink + To wait its Easter day. + The wall with pageantry is all alive! + + And I who gaze + On the dark border here, + Drawn like a ribbon round the pasture-ways, + Embroidered with the glory of the year,-- + Do I not like the wall? + Lo, I remember how in days of old + My grandsire toiled with weariness and pain + To dig the cumbering boulders from the mould; + Piled them in ordered rows again, + Fitting them firm and fast, + A monument to last + Long after his own harried day was past. + He cleared the rocky soil for corn and grain + By which his children throve + To carry on the race. + We live by his life-giving. + I see each stone, rough like his granite face,-- + Uncompromising, stern, no slave to love, + Dowered with little grace, + Grim with the hard, unjoyful task of living, + But strong to stand the wrath of storm and time, + And bolts that heaven let fall. + Built of a patriot's prime,-- + I love the wall! + + ABBIE FARWELL BROWN + + +BOULDERS + + There is a look of wisdom in yon stones, + Great boulders basking in the noonday heat, + Their grimness lightened by a fringe of sweet + Fresh fern or moss or green-gray lichen tones. + While through the glade an insect army drones + And birds from neighboring boughs their notes repeat, + These patriarchs, drowsing as in bliss complete, + Rest on the flowery sward their tranquil bones. + + A thousand or ten thousand years ago, + Shattered by frost, or by the torrent's might, + These boulders hurtled from some toppling height + And crashed through forests to the plain below. + Now, reconciled to Nature's gentler mood, + They lie on lowly earth and find it good. + + CHARLES WHARTON STORK + + +AFTERNOON ON A HILL + + I will be the gladdest thing + Under the sun; + I will touch a hundred flowers + And not pick one; + + I will look at cliffs and clouds + With quiet eyes; + Watch the wind bow down the grass, + And the grass rise; + + And when lights begin to show + Up from the town, + I will mark which must be mine, + And then start down. + + EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY + + +THE GOLDEN-ROD + + O Rod of gold! + O swaying sceptre of the year-- + Now frost and cold + Show Winter near, + And shivering leaves grow brown and sere. + The bleak hillside, + And marshy waste of yellow reeds, + And meadows wide + Where frosted weeds + Shake on the damp wind light-winged seeds, + Are decked with thee,-- + The lingering Summer's latest grace, + And sovereignty. + Each wind-swept space + Waves thy red gold in Winter's face-- + He strives each star, + In stormy pride to lay full low; + But when thy bar + Resists his blow, + Will crown thee with a puff of snow! + + MARGARET DELAND + + +THE PATH THAT LEADS TO NOWHERE + + There's a path that leads to nowhere + In a meadow that I know, + Where an inland island rises + And the stream is still and slow; + There it wanders under willows + And beneath the silver green + Of the birches' silent shadows + Where the early violets lean. + + Other pathways lead to Somewhere, + But the one I love so well + Had no end and no beginning-- + Just the beauty of the dell, + Just the windflowers and the lilies, + Yellow striped as adder's tongue + Seem to satisfy my pathway + As it winds their sweets among. + + There I go to meet the Spring-time, + When the meadow is aglow, + Marigolds amid the marshes,-- + And the stream is still and slow.-- + There I find my fair oasis, + And with care-free feet I tread + For the pathway leads to nowhere, + And the blue is overhead! + + All the ways that lead to Somewhere + Echo with the hurrying feet + Of the Struggling and the Striving, + But the way I find so sweet + Bids me dream and bids me linger, + Joy and Beauty are its goal,-- + On the path that leads to nowhere + I have sometimes found my soul! + + CORINNE ROOSEVELT ROBINSON + + + + + LOVERS AND ROSES + + +THE MESSAGE + + _So fair the world about me lies, + So pure is heaven above, + Ere so much beauty dies + I would give a gift to my love; + Now, ere the long day close, + That has been so full of bliss, + I will send to my love the rose, + In its leaves I will shut a kiss; + A rose in the night to perish, + A kiss through life to cherish; + Now, ere the night-wind blows, + I will send unto her the rose._ + + GEORGE EDWARD WOODBERRY + + +"WHERE LOVE IS LIFE" + + Where love is life + The roses blow, + Though winds be rude + And cold the snow, + The roses climb + Serenely slow, + They nod in rhyme + We know--we know + Where love is life + The roses blow. + + Where life is love + The roses blow, + Though care be quick + And sorrows grow, + Their roots are twined + With rose-roots so + That rosebuds find + A way to show + Where life is love + The roses blow. + + DUNCAN CAMPBELL SCOTT + + +THE TIME OF ROSES + + Love, it is the time of roses! + In bright fields and garden-closes + How they burgeon and unfold! + How they sweep o'er tombs and towers + In voluptuous crimson showers + And untrammelled tides of gold! + + How they lure wild bees to capture + All the rich mellifluous rapture + Of their magical perfume, + And to passing winds surrender + And their frail and dazzling splendor + Rivalling your turban-plume! + + How they cleave the air adorning + The high rivers of the morning + In a blithe, bejewelled fleet! + How they deck the moonlit grasses + In thick rainbow tinted masses + Like a fair queen's bridal sheet! + + Hide me in a shrine of roses, + Drown me in a wine of roses + Drawn from every fragrant grove! + Bind me on a pyre of roses, + Burn me in a fire of roses, + Crown me with the rose of Love! + + SAROJINI NAIDU + + +LOVE PLANTED A ROSE + + Love planted a rose, + And the world turned sweet. + Where the wheat-field blows + Love planted a rose. + Up the mill-wheel's prose + Ran a music-beat. + Love planted a rose, + And the world turned sweet. + + KATHARINE LEE BATES + + +THE GARDEN + + My heart shall be thy garden. Come, my own, + Into thy garden; thine be happy hours + Among my fairest thoughts, my tallest flowers, + From root to crowning petal thine alone. + + Thine is the place from where the seeds are sown + Up to the sky enclosed, with all its showers. + But ah, the birds, the birds! Who shall build bowers + To keep these thine? O friend, the birds have flown. + + For as these come and go, and quit our pine + To follow the sweet season, or, new-comers, + Sing one song only from our alder-trees, + + My heart has thoughts, which, though thine eyes hold mine, + Fit to the silent world and other summers, + With wings that dip beyond the silver seas. + + ALICE MEYNELL + + +CLOUD AND FLOWER + + I saw the giant stalking to the sky, + The giant cloud above the wilderness, + Bearing a mystery too far, too high, + For my poor guess. + Away I turned me, sighing: "I must seek + In lowlier places for the wonder-word. + Something more little, intimate, shall speak." + A bright rose stirred. + And long I looked into its face, to see + At last some hidden import of the hour. + + And I had thought to turn from mystery-- + But O, flower! flower! + + AGNES LEE + + +PROGRESS + + There seems no difference between + To-day and yesterday-- + The forest glimmers just as green, + The garden's just as gay. + + Yet, something came and something went + Within the night's chill gloom: + An old rose fell, her fragrance spent, + A new rose burst in bloom. + + CHARLOTTE BECKER + + +"BUT WE DID WALK IN EDEN" + + But we did walk in Eden, + Eden, the garden of God;-- + There, where no beckoning wonder + Of all the paths we trod, + No choiring sun-filled vineyard, + No voice of stream or bird, + But was some radiant oracle + And flaming with the Word! + + Mine ears are dim with voices; + Mine eyes yet strive to see + The black things here to wonder at, + The mirth,--the misery. + Beloved, who wert with me there, + How came these shames to be?-- + On what lost star are we? + + Men say: The paths of gladness + By men were never trod!-- + But we have walked in Eden, + Eden, the garden of God. + + JOSEPHINE PRESTON PEABODY + + +A GARDEN-PIECE + + Among the flowers of summer-time she stood, + And underneath the films and blossoms shone + Her face, like some pomegranate strangely grown + To ripe magnificence in solitude; + The wanton winds, deft whisperers, had strewed + Her shoulders with her shining hair out blown, + And dyed her breast with many a changing tone + Of silvery green, and all the hues that brood + Among the flowers; + She raised her arm up for her dove to know + That he might preen him on her lovely head; + Then I, unseen, and rising on tiptoe, + Bowed over the rose-barriers, and lo! + Touched not her arm, but kissed her lips instead, + Among the flowers! + + EDMUND GOSSE + + +"HOW MANY FLOWERS ARE GENTLY MET" + + How many flowers are gently met + Within my garden fair! + The daffodil, the violet, + And lilies dear are there. + + They fade and pass, the fleeting flowers, + And brief their little light; + They hold not Love's diviner hours, + Nor Sower's human night. + + Tho' one by one their bloom depart, + No change thy lover knows, + For mine the fragrance of thy heart, + O thou my perfect rose! + + GEORGE STERLING + + +WITH A ROSE, TO BRUNHILDE + + Brunhilde, with the young Norn soul + That has no peace, and grim as those + That spun the thread of life, give heed: + Peace is concealed in every rose. + And in these petals peace I bring: + A jewel clearer than the dew: + A perfume subtler than the breath + Of Spring with which it circles you. + + Peace I have found, asleep, awake, + By many paths, on many a strand. + Peace overspreads the sky with stars. + Peace is concealed within your hand. + And when at night I clasp it there + I wonder how you never know + The strength you shed from finger-tips: + The treasure that consoles me so. + + Begin the art of finding peace, + Beloved:--it is art, no less. + Sometimes we find it hid beneath + The orchards in their springtime dress: + Sometimes one finds it in oak woods, + Sometimes in dazzling mountain-snows; + In books, sometimes. But pray begin + By finding it within a rose. + + VACHEL LINDSAY + + +"MY SOUL IS LIKE A GARDEN-CLOSE" + + My soul is like a garden-close + Where marjoram and lilac grow, + Where soft the scent of long ago + Over the border lightly blows. + + Where sometimes homing winds at play + Bear the faint fragrance of a rose-- + My soul is like a garden-close + Because you chanced to pass my way. + + THOMAS S. JONES, JR. + + +A DREAM + + I dreamed a dream of roses somewhere breathing + Their sweet souls out upon the summer night: + The flowers I saw not, but their fragrance wreathing + Like clouds of incense filled me with delight. + And then as if for my still further pleasure + There came a flood of sweetest melody,-- + But whence I knew not flowed the wondrous measure, + For neither flute nor viol could I see. + Then in the vision love sublime, immortal, + Encircled all my soul with its pure stream; + And though I saw thee not through dreamland's portal, + I knew thou only hadst inspired the dream. + 'Tis thus thine influence itself discloses, + In dreams of love, of music, and of roses! + + ANTOINETTE DE COURSEY PATTERSON + + +THE ROSE + + The rose-tree wears a diadem, + Both bud and bloom of gold and fire, + Too high upon the slender stem + For baby hands that reach for them: + + And _Roses!_ my brown Elsa cries: + Her chubby arms in vain aspire. + But rose-leaf Hilda smiles and sighs + And worships them with patient eyes. + + I gathered them a rose or two, + But not the shy one hanging higher + That brushed my lips with honey-dew! + _That_ is the rose I send to you. + + GRACE HAZARD CONKLING + + +PRAYER + + Would that I might become you, + Losing myself, my sweet!-- + So longs the dust that lies + About the rose's feet. + + So longs the last, dim star + Hung on the verge of night;-- + She moves--she melts--she slips-- + She trembles into the light. + + JOHN HALL WHEELOCK + + +IN A GARDEN + + I sat one day within a garden fair + Pining for thee and sad because alone, + Wishing some fate could send thee to me there. + + All things appeared to share my saddened mood, + Each flower drooped, the sun was hid from view, + The very birds in silence seemed to brood. + + Then, as I day-dreamed with my eyes half closed, + Sudden the birds began to sing again, + The flow'rs, uplifting heads, no longer dozed. + + Thinking the sun had come once more for me + And for all nature, to effect such change, + I turned and lo! saw not the sun but thee. + + LIVINGSTON L. BIDDLE + + +A SONG OF FAIRIES + + Oh, the beauty of the world is in this garden, + I hear it stir on every hand. + See how the flowers keep still because of it! + hear how it trembles in the blackbird's song! + There is a secret in it, a blessed mystery. + I fain would weep to feel it near me, my eyes + grow dim before these unseen wings. + And the secret is in other places, it is in songs + and music and all lovers' hearts. + Hush now, and walk on tiptoe, for these are fairy things. + + ELIZABETH KIRBY + + +A SONG TO BELINDA + + Belinda in her dimity, + Whereon are wrought pink roses, + Trips through the boxwood paths to me, + A-down the garden-closes, + As though a hundred roses came, + ('Twas so I thought) to meet me, + As though one rosebud said my name + And bent its head to greet me. + + Belinda, in your rose-wrought dress + You seemed the garden's growing; + The tilt and toss o' you, no less + Than wind-swayed posy blowing. + 'Twas so I watched in sweet dismay, + Lest in that happy hour, + Sudden you'd stop and thrill and sway + And turn into a flower. + + THEODOSIA GARRISON + + +SWEETHEART-LADY + + De roses lean ter love her an' des won't leave de place; + De climbin' mawnin'-glories sweet-smilin' in her face; + De twinklin' pathway know her an' seem ter pass de word, + An' de South Win' singin' ter her ter match de mockin'-bird. + + She sweetheart ter de Springtime, + W'en de dreamy roses stir, + An' Winter shine lak' Summer + An' wear a rose fer her. + + "Sweetheart!" sing de Medder, w'en lak' de light she pass; + De River take de tune up: "Make me yo' lookin'-glass!" + But des who her true lover she never let 'em know; + De Win' is sich a tell-tale, an' de River run on so! + + But Springtime come a-courtin' + An' let de blossoms fall, + An' Summer say: "I loves you!" + She sweetheart ter 'em ALL! + + FRANK L. STANTON + + +HEART'S GARDEN + + I have a garden filled with many flowers: + The mignonette, the sweet-pea, and the rose, + Daisies, and daffodils, whose color glows + The fairer for the verdure which embowers + Their beauty, and sets forth their hidden powers + To charm my heart, whenever at the close + Of day's dull hurry I would seek repose + In my still garden through the darkening hours. + + Thus, Lady, do I keep a place apart, + Wherein my love for you cloistered shall be, + Far from the rattle of the city cart, + Even as my garden, where daily I may see + The flowers of your love, and none from me + May win the hidden secret of my heart. + + NORREYS JEPHSON O'CONOR + + +A ROSE LOVER + + Do thou, my rose, incline + Thy heart to mine. + If love be real + Ah, whisper, whisper low + That I at last may know. + Quick! breathe it now! + A sigh,--a tear,--a vow: + Oh, any lightest thing + Its cadences to sing + That loved am I, and not, + Ah, not forgot! + + FREDERIC A. WHITING + + +SONNET + + The sweet caresses that I gave to you + Are but the perfume of the Rose of Love, + The color and the witchery thereof, + And not the Rose itself. Each is a clue + Merely, whereby to seek the hidden, true, + Substantial blossom. Like the Jordan dove + A kiss is but a symbol from above-- + An emblem the Reality shines through. + + The Rose of Love is ever unrevealed + In all its beauty, for the sight of it + Were perilous with purpose of the world. + The hand of Life has cautiously concealed + The pollen-chamber of the infinite + Flower, and its petals only half uncurled. + + ELSA BARKER + + +A SONG IN A GARDEN + + Will the garden never forget + That it whispers over and over, + "Where is your lover, Nanette? + Where is your lover--your lover?" + Oh, roses I helped to grow, + Oh, lily and mignonette, + Must you always question me so, + "Where is your lover, Nanette?" + Since you looked on my joy one day, + Is my grief then a lesser thing? + Have you only this to say + When I pray you for comforting? + + Now that I walk alone + Here where our hands were met, + Must you whisper me everyone, + "Where is your lover, Nanette?" + + I have mourned with you year and year, + When the Autumn has left you bare, + And now that my heart is sere + Does not one of your roses care? + Oh, help me forget--forget, + Nor question over and over, + "Where is your lover, Nanette? + Where is your lover--your lover?" + + THEODOSIA GARRISON + + +"IT WAS JUNE IN THE GARDEN" + + It was June in the garden, + It was our time, our day; + And our gaze with love on everything + Did fall; + They seemed then softly opening, + And they saw and loved us both, + The roses all. + + The sky was purer than all limpid thought; + Insect and bird + Swept through the golden texture of the air, + Unheard; + Our kisses were so fair they brought + Exaltation to both light and bird. + It seemed as though a happiness at once + Had skied itself and wished the heavens entire + For its resplendent fire; + And life, all pulsing life, had entered in, + Into the fissures of our beings to the core, + To fling them higher. + + And there was nothing but invocatory cries, + Mad impulses, prayers and vows that cleave + The archèd skies, + And sudden yearning to create new gods, + In order to believe. + + EMILE VERHAEREN + + +TWO ROSES + + A fair white rose sedately grows + Within the garden wall. There blows + No wind to ruff her petals white, + No stain of earth, no touch of blight + The pure face of my ladye shows. + The queen of all the walls enclose + Might be mine own, an' if I chose; + But yet, but yet I cannot slight + My wild red rose. + + Outside the garden wall she throws + Her clinging tendrils, and she knows + How strong the winds of passion smite; + She's fragrant, though not faultless quite; + Just as she is, none shall depose + My wild red rose. + + WILLIAM LINDSEY + + +ROSES + + Red roses floating in a crystal bowl + You bring, O love; and in your eyes I see, + Blossom on blossom, your warm love of me + Burning within the crystal of your soul-- + Red roses floating in a crystal bowl. + + WILFRID WILSON GIBSON + + +HER GARDEN + + This friendly garden, with its fragrant roses,-- + It was not ours, when she was here below; + And so, in that low bed where she reposes, + The beauty of it all she cannot know. + + But in the evening when the birds are calling + The fragrance rises like a breath of myrrh, + And in my empty heart, benignly falling, + Becomes a little prayer to send to her. + + So, in that silent, lonely bed that holds her, + Where nevermore the shadows rise or flee, + I think a dream of radiant spring enfolds her-- + Of bloom and bird and bending bough ... and me. + + LOUIS DODGE + + +ÆRE PERENNIUS + + As long as the stars of God + Hang steadfast in the sky, + And the blossoms 'neath the sod + Awake when Spring is nigh; + As long as the nightingale + Sings love-songs to the rose, + And the Winter wind in the vale + Makes moan o'er the virgin snows-- + As long as these things be + I would tell my love for thee! + + As long as the rose of June + Bursts forth in crimson fire, + And the mellow harvest-moon + Shines over hill and spire; + As long as heaven's dew + At morning kisses the sod; + As long as you are you, + And I know that God is God-- + As long as these things be + I would tell my love for thee! + + CHARLES HANSON TOWNE + + +EVER THE SAME + + King Solomon walked a thousand times + Forth of his garden-close; + And saw there spring no goodlier thing, + Be sure, than the same little rose. + + Under the sun was nothing new, + Or now, I well suppose. + But what new thing could you find to sing + More rare than the same little rose? + + Nothing is new; save I, save you, + And every new heart that grows, + On the same Earth met, that nurtures yet + Breath of the same little rose. + + JOSEPHINE PRESTON PEABODY + + +THE MESSAGE + + When one has heard the message of the Rose, + For what faint other calling shall he care? + Dark broodings turn to find their lonely lair; + The vain world keeps her posturing and pose. + He, with his crimson secret, which bestows + Heaven in his heart, to Heaven lifts his prayer, + And knows all glory trembling through the air + As on triumphal journeying he goes. + + So through green woodlands in the twilight dim, + Led by the faint, pale argent of a star, + What though to others it is weary night, + Nature holds out her wide, sweet heart to him; + And, leaning o'er the world's mysterious bar, + His soul is great with everlasting light. + + HELEN HAY WHITNEY + + +TELL-TALE + + The Lily whispered to the Rose: + "The Tulip's fearfully stuck up. + You'd think to see the creature's pose, + She was a golden altar-cup. + There's method in her boldness, too; + She catches twice her share of Dew." + + The Rose into the Tulip's ear + Murmured: "The Lily is a sight; + Don't you believe she _powders_, dear, + To make herself so saintly white? + She takes some trouble, it is plain, + Her reputation to sustain." + + Said Tulip to the Lily white: + "About the Rose--what do you think?-- + Her color? Should you say it's quite-- + Well, quite a natural shade of pink?" + "Natural!" the Lily cried. "Good Saints! + Why, _everybody_ knows she paints!" + + OLIVER HERFORD + + +DA THIEF + + Eef poor man goes + An' steals a rose + Een Juna-time-- + Wan leetla rose-- + You gon' su'pose + Dat dat's a crime? + + Eh! w'at? Den taka look at me, + For here bayfore your eyes you see + Wan thief dat ees so glad an' proud + He gona brag of eet out loud! + So moocha good I do, an' feel + From dat wan leetla rose I steal, + Dat eef I gon' to jail to-day + Dey could no tak' my joy away. + So, lees'en! here ees how eet com': + Las' night w'en I am walkin' home + From work een hotta ceety street, + Ees sudden com' a smal so sweet + Eet maka heaven een my nose-- + I look an' dere I see da rose! + Not wan, but manny, fine an' tall, + Dat peep at me above da wall. + So, too, I close my eyes an' find + Anudder peecture een my mind; + I see a house dat's small an' hot + Where manny pretta theengs is not, + Where leetla woman, good an' true, + Ees work so hard da whole day through, + She's too wore out, w'en com's da night, + For smile an' mak' da housa bright. + + But, presto! now I'm home an' she + Ees settin' on da step weeth me. + Bambino, sleepin' on her breast, + Ees nevva know more sweeta rest, + An' nevva was sooch glad su'prise + Like now ees shina from her eyes; + An' all baycause to-night she wear + Wan leetla rose stuck een her hair. + She ees so please'! Eet mak' me feel + I shoulda sooner learned to steal. + + Eef "thief's" my name + I feel no shame; + Eet ees no crime-- + Dat rose I got. + Eh! w'at? O! not + Een Juna-time! + + T. A. DALY + + +RESULTS AND ROSES + + The man who wants a garden fair, + Or small or very big, + With flowers growing here and there, + Must bend his back and dig. + + The things are mighty few on earth + That wishes can attain. + Whate'er we want of any worth + We've got to work to gain. + + It matters not what goal you seek, + Its secret here reposes: + You've got to dig from week to week + To get Results or Roses. + + EDGAR A. GUEST + + + + + UNDERNEATH THE BOUGH + + +MIRACLE + + _Yesterday the twig was brown and bare; + To-day the glint of green is there + To-morrow will be leaflets spare; + I know no thing so wondrous fair + No miracle so strangely rare._ + + _I wonder what will next be there!_ + + L. H. BAILEY + + +THE AWAKENING + + You little, eager, peeping thing-- + You embryonic point of light + Pushing from out your winter night, + How you do make my pulses sing! + A tiny eye amid the gloom-- + The merest speck I scarce had seen-- + So doth God's rapture rend the tomb + In this wee burst of April green! + + And lo, 'tis here--and lo! 'Tis there-- + Spurting its jets of sweet desire + In upward curling threads of fire + Like tapers kindling all the air. + Why, scarce it seems an hour ago + These branches clashed in bitter cold; + What Power hath set their veins aglow? + O soul of mine, be bold, be bold! + If from this tree, this blackened thing, + Hard as the floor my feet have prest, + This flame of joy comes clamoring + In hues as red as robin's breast + Waking to life this little twig-- + O faith of mine, be big! Be big! + + ANGELA MORGAN + + +SHADE + + The kindliest thing God ever made, + His hand of very healing laid + Upon a fevered world, is shade. + + His glorious company of trees + Throw out their mantles, and on these + The dust-stained wanderer finds ease. + + Green temples, closed against the beat + Of noontime's blinding glare and heat, + Open to any pilgrim's feet. + + The white road blisters in the sun; + Now, half the weary journey done, + Enter and rest, Oh, weary one! + + And feel the dew of dawn still wet + Beneath thy feet, and so forget + The burning highway's ache and fret. + + This is God's hospitality, + And whoso rests beneath a tree + Hath cause to thank Him gratefully. + + THEODOSIA GARRISON + + +SELECTION FROM "UNDER THE TREES" + + The wonderful, strong, angelic trees, + With their blowing locks and their bared great knees + And nourishing bosoms, shout all together, + And rush and rock through the glad wild weather. + + They are so old they teach me, + With their strong hands they reach me, + Into their breast my soul they take, + And keep me there for wisdom's sake. + + They teach me little prayers; + To-day I am their child; + The sweet breath of their innocent airs + Blows through me strange and wild. + + * * * * * + + I never feel afraid + Among the trees; + Of trees are houses made; + And even with these, + Unhewn, untouched, unseen, + Is something homelike in the safe sweet green, + Intimate in the shade. + + * * * * * + + We are all brothers! Come, let's rest awhile + In the great kinship. Underneath the trees + Let's be at home once more, with birds and bees + And gnats and soil and stone. With these I must + Acknowledge family ties. Our mother, the dust, + With wistful and investigating eyes + Searches my soul for the old sturdiness, + Valor, simplicity! Stout virtues these, + We learned at her dear knees. + Friend, you and I + Once played together in the good old days. + Do you remember? Why, brother, down what wild ways + We traveled, when-- + That's right! Draw close to me! + Come now, let's tell the tale beneath the old roof-tree. + + ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH + + +A GARDEN FRIEND + + O comrade tree, perhaps alive as I-- + One process lacking of this mortal clay-- + Give me your constant outlook to the sky, + The courtesy and cheer that fill your day. + + Your noble gift of perfect service teach; + Your wisdom in the wild storm softly bent + Aware 'twill end; your patience that can reach + Across the years from clod to firmament. + + CATHERINE MARKHAM (MRS. EDWIN MARKHAM) + + +A LADY OF THE SNOWS + + The mountain hemlock droops her lacy branches + Oh, so tenderly + In the summer sun! + Yet she has power to baffle avalanches-- + She, rising slenderly + Where the rivers run. + + So pliant yet so powerful! Oh, see her + Spread alluringly + Her thin sea-green dress! + Now from white winter's thrall the sun would free her + To bloom unenduringly + In his glad caress. + + HARRIET MONROE + + +THE TREE + + Spread, delicate roots of my tree, + Feeling, clasping, thrusting, growing; + Sensitive pilgrim root tips roaming everywhere. + Into resistant earth your filaments forcing, + Down in the dark, unknown, desirous: + The strange ceaseless life of you, eating and drinking of earth, + The corrosive secretions of you, breaking the stuff of the world to + your will. + + Tips of my tree in the springtime bursting to terrible beauty, + Folded green life, exquisite, holy exultant; + I feel in you the splendour, the autumn of ripe fulfilment, + Love and labour and death, the sacred pageant of life. + In the sweet curled buds of you, + In the opening glory of leaves, tissues moulded of green light; + Veined, cut, perfect to type, + Each one like a child of high lineage bearing the sigil of race. + + The open hands of my tree held out to the touch of the air + As love that opens its arms and waits on the lover's will; + The curtsey, the sway, and the toss of the spray as it sports with the + breeze; + Rhythmical whisper of leaves that murmur and move in the light; + Crying of wind in the boughs, the beautiful music of pain: + Thus do you sing and say + The sorrow, the effort, the sweet surrender, the joy. + + Come! tented leaves of my tree; + High summer is here, the moment of passionate life, + The hushed, the maternal hour. + Deep in the shaded green your mystery shielding, + Heir of the ancient woods and parent of forests to be, + Lo! to your keeping is given the Father's life-giving thought; + The thing that is dream and deed and carries the gift of the past. + For this, for this, great tree, + The glory of maiden leaves, the solemn stretch of the bough, + The wise persistent roots + Into the stuff of the world their filaments forcing, + Breaking the earth to their need. + + * * * * * + + Tall tree, your name is peace. + You are the channel of God: + His mystical sap, + Elixir of infinite love, syrup of infinite power, + Swelling and shaping, brooding and hiding, + With out-thrust of delicate joy, with pitiless pageant of death, + Sings in your cells; + Its rhythmical cycle of life + In you is fulfilled. + + EVELYN UNDERHILL + + +"LOVELIEST OF TREES" + + Loveliest of trees, the cherry now + Is hung with bloom along the bough, + And stands about the woodland ride + Wearing white for Eastertide. + + Now, of my threescore years and ten, + Twenty will not come again, + And take from seventy springs a score, + It only leaves me fifty more. + + And since to look at things in bloom + Fifty springs are little room, + About the woodlands I will go + To see the cherry hung with snow. + + A. E. HOUSMAN + + +THE SPIRIT OF THE BIRCH + + I am the dancer of the wood + I shimmer in the solitude + Men call me Birch Tree, yet I know + In other days it was not so. + I am a Dryad slim and white + Who danced too long one summer night, + And the Dawn found and prisoned me! + Captive I moaned my liberty. + But let the wood wind flutes begin + Their elfin music, faint and thin, + I sway, I bend, retreat, advance, + And evermore--I dance! I dance! + + ARTHUR KETCHUM + + +FAMILY TREES + + You boast about your ancient line, + But listen, stranger, unto mine: + + You trace your lineage afar, + Back to the heroes of a war + Fought that a country might be free; + Yea, farther--to a stormy sea + Where winter's angry billows tossed, + O'er which your Pilgrim Fathers crossed. + Nay, more--through yellow, dusty tomes + You trace your name to English homes + Before the distant, unknown West + Lay open to a world's behest; + Yea, back to days of those Crusades + When Turk and Christian crossed their blades, + You point with pride to ancient names, + To powdered sires and painted dames; + You boast of this--your family tree; + Now listen, stranger, unto me: + + When armored knights and gallant squires, + Your own belovèd, honored sires, + Were in their infants' blankets rolled, + My fathers' youngest sons were old; + When they broke forth in infant tears + My fathers' heads were crowned with years, + Yea, ere the mighty Saxon host + Of which you sing had touched the coast, + Looked back as far as you look now. + Yea, when the Druids trod the wood, + My venerable fathers stood + And gazed through misty centuries + As far as even Memory sees. + When Britain's eldest first beheld + The light, my fathers then were eld. + You of the splendid ancestry, + Who boast about your family tree, + + Consider, stranger, this of mine-- + Bethink the lineage of a Pine. + + DOUGLAS MALLOCH + + +IDEALISTS + + Brother Tree: + Why do you reach and reach? + Do you dream some day to touch the sky? + Brother Stream: + Why do you run and run? + Do you dream some day to fill the sea? + Brother Bird: + Why do you sing and sing? + Do you dream-- + _Young Man: + Why do you talk and talk and talk?_ + + ALFRED KREYMBORG + + +"DRAW CLOSER, O YE TREES" + + O quiet cottage room, + Whose casements, looking o'er the garden-close, + Are hid in wildings and the woodbine bloom + And many a clambering rose, + + Sweet is thy light subdued, + Gracious and soft, lingering upon my book, + As that which shimmers through the branchèd wood + Above some dreamful nook! + + Leaning within my chair, + Through the curtain I can see the stir-- + The gentle undulations of the air-- + Sway the dark-layered fir; + + And, in the beechen green, + Mark many a squirrel romp and chirrup loud; + While far beyond, the chestnut-boughs between, + Floats the white summer cloud. + + Through the loopholes in the leaves, + Upon the yellow slopes of far-off farms, + I see the rhythmic cradlers and the sheaves + Gleam in the binders' arms. + + At times I note, nearby, + The flicker tapping on some hollow bole; + And watch the sun, against the sky, + The fluting oriole; + + Or, when the day is done, + And the warm splendors make the oak-top flush, + Hear him, full-throated in the setting sun,-- + The darling wildwood thrush. + + O sanctuary shade + Enfold one round! I would no longer roam: + Let not the thought of wandering e'er invade + This still, reclusive home! + + Draw closer, O ye trees! + Veil from my sight e'en the loved mountain's blue; + The world may be more fair beyond all these, + Yet I would know but you! + + LLOYD MIFFLIN + + +TREES + + In the Garden of Eden, planted by God, + There were goodly trees in the springing sod,-- + + Trees of beauty and height and grace, + To stand in splendor before His face. + + Apple and hickory, ash and pear, + Oak and beech and the tulip rare, + + The trembling aspen, the noble pine, + The sweeping elm by the river line; + + Trees for the birds to build and sing, + And the lilac tree for a joy in spring; + + Trees to turn at the frosty call + And carpet the ground for their Lord's footfall; + + Trees for fruitage and fire and shade, + Trees for the cunning builder's trade; + + Wood for the bow, the spear, and the flail, + The keel and the mast of the daring sail; + + He made them of every grain and girth, + For the use of man in the Garden of Earth. + + Then lest the soul should not lift her eyes + From the gift to the Giver of Paradise, + + On the crown of a hill, for all to see, + God planted a scarlet maple tree. + + BLISS CARMAN + + +THE TREES + + There's something in a noble tree-- + What shall I say? a soul? + For 'tis not form, or aught we see + In leaf or branch or bole. + Some presence, though not understood, + Dwells there alway, and seems + To be acquainted with our mood, + And mingles in our dreams. + + I would not say that trees at all + Were of our blood and race, + Yet, lingering where their shadows fall, + I sometimes think I trace + A kinship, whose far-reaching root + Grew when the world began, + And made them best of all things mute + To be the friends of man. + + Held down by whatsoever might + Unto an earthly sod, + They stretch forth arms for air and light, + As we do after God; + And when in all their boughs the breeze + Moans loud, or softly sings, + As our own hearts in us, the trees + Are almost human things. + + What wonder in the days that burned + With old poetic dream, + Dead Phaëthon's fair sisters turned + To poplars by the stream! + In many a light cotillion stept + The trees when fluters blew; + And many a tear, 'tis said, they wept + For human sorrow too. + + Mute, said I? They are seldom thus; + They whisper each to each, + And each and all of them to us, + In varied forms of speech. + "Be serious," the solemn pine + Is saying overhead; + "Be beautiful," the elm-tree fine + Has always finely said; + + "Be quick to feel," the aspen still + Repeats the whole day long; + While, from the green slope of the hill, + The oak-tree adds, "Be strong." + When with my burden, as I hear + Their distant voices call, + I rise, and listen, and draw near, + "Be patient," say they all. + + SAMUEL VALENTINE COLE + + +THE POPLARS + + My poplars are like ladies trim, + Each conscious of her own estate; + In costume somewhat over prim, + In manner cordially sedate, + Like two old neighbours met to chat + Beside my garden gate. + + My stately old aristocrats-- + I fancy still their talk must be + Of rose-conserves and Persian cats, + And lavender and Indian tea;-- + I wonder sometimes as I pass + If they approve of me. + + I give them greeting night and morn, + I like to think they answer, too, + With that benign assurance born + When youth gives age the reverence due, + And bend their wise heads as I go + As courteous ladies do. + + Long may you stand before my door, + Oh, kindly neighbours garbed in green, + And bend with rustling welcome o'er + The many friends who pass between; + And where the little children play + Look down with gracious mien. + + THEODOSIA GARRISON + + +TREES + + I think that I shall never see + A poem lovely as a tree. + + A tree whose hungry mouth is prest + Against the earth's sweet flowing breast; + + A tree that looks at God all day, + And lifts her leafy arms to pray; + + A tree that may in Summer wear + A nest of robins in her hair; + + Upon whose bosom snow has lain; + Who intimately lives with rain. + + Poems are made by fools like me, + But only God can make a tree. + + JOYCE KILMER + + + + + THE LOST GARDENS OF THE HEART + + +AS IN A ROSE-JAR + + _As in a rose-jar filled with petals sweet + Blown long ago in some old garden place, + Mayhap, where you and I, a little space + Drank deep of love and knew that love was fleet-- + Or leaves once gathered from a lost retreat + By one who never will again retrace + Her silent footsteps--one, whose gentle face + Was fairer than the roses at her feet;_ + + _So, deep within the vase of memory + I keep my dust of roses fresh and dear + As in the days before I knew the smart + Of time and death. Nor aught can take from me + The haunting fragrance that still lingers here-- + As in a rose-jar, so within the heart!_ + + THOMAS S. JONES, JR. + + +IN AN OLD GARDEN + + Old phantoms haunt it of the long-ago; + Old ghosts of old-time lovers and of dreams: + Within the quiet sunlight there, meseems, + I see them walking where those lilies blow. + The hardy phlox sways to some garments' flow; + The salvia there with sudden scarlet streams, + Caught from some ribbon of some throat that gleams, + Petunia fair, in flounce and furbelow. + I seem to hear their whispers in each wind + That wanders 'mid the flowers. There they stand! + Among the shadows of that apple tree! + They are not dead, whom still it keeps in mind, + This garden, planted by some lovely hand + That keeps it fragrant with its memory. + + MADISON CAWEIN + + +THE GARDEN OF DREAMS + + My heart is a garden of dreams + Where you walk when day is done, + Fair as the royal flowers, + Calm as the lingering sun. + + Never a drouth comes there, + Nor any frost that mars, + Only the wind of love + Under the early stars,-- + + The living breath that moves + Whispering to and fro, + Like the voice of God in the dusk + Of the garden long ago. + + BLISS CARMAN + + +HOMESICK + + O my garden! lying whitely in the moonlight and the dew, + Far across the leagues of distance flies my heart to-night to you, + And I see your stately lilies in the tender radiance gleam + With a dim, mysterious splendor, like the angels of a dream! + + I can see the stealthy shadows creep along the ivied wall, + And the bosky depths of verdure where the drooping vine-leaves fall, + And the tall trees standing darkly with their crowns against the sky, + While overhead the harvest moon goes slowly sailing by. + + I can see the trellised arbor, and the roses' crimson glow, + And the lances of the larkspurs all glittering, row on row, + And the wilderness of hollyhocks, where brown bees seek their spoil, + And butterflies dance all day long, in glad and gay turmoil. + + O, the broad paths running straightly, north and south and east and + west! + O, the wild grape climbing sturdily to reach the oriole's nest! + O, the bank where wild flowers blossom, ferns nod and mosses creep + In a tangled maze of beauty over all the wooded steep! + + Just beyond the moonlit garden I can see the orchard trees, + With their dark boughs overladen, stirring softly in the breeze, + And the shadows on the greensward, and within the pasture bars + The white sheep huddling quietly beneath the pallid stars. + + O my garden! lying whitely in the moonlight and the dew, + Far across the restless ocean flies my yearning heart to you, + And I turn from storied castle, hoary fane, and ruined shrine, + To the dear, familiar pleasaunce where my own white lilies shine-- + + With a vague, half-startled wonder if some night in Paradise, + From the battlements of heaven I shall turn my longing eyes + All the dim, resplendent spaces and the mazy stardrifts through + To my garden lying whitely in the moonlight and the dew! + + JULIA C. R. DORR + + +THE WAYS OF TIME + + As butterflies are but winged flowers, + Half sorry for their change, who fain, + So still and long they live on leaves, + Would be thought flowers again.-- + + E'en so my thoughts, that should expand, + And grow to higher themes above, + Return like butterflies to lie + On the old things I love. + + WILLIAM H. DAVIES + + +A MIDSUMMER GARDEN + + There is a little garden-close, + Girdled by golden apple trees, + That through the long sweet summer hours + Is haunted by the hum of bees. + + The poppy tosses here its torch, + And the tall bee-balm flaunts its fire, + And regally the larkspur lifts + The slender azure of its spire. + + And from the phlox and mignonette + Rich attars drift on every hand; + And when star-vestured twilight comes + The pale moths weave a saraband. + + And crickets in the aisles of grass + With their clear fifing pierce the hush; + And somewhere you may hear anear + The passion of the hermit-thrush. + + It is a place where dreams convene, + Dreams of the dead years gone astray, + Of love and loveliness borne back + From some forgotten yesterday. + + It is a memory-hallowed spot + Where joy assumes its vernal guise, + And two walk silent side by side, + Youth's glory shining in their eyes. + + CLINTON SCOLLARD + + +THE WHITE ROSE + + This is the spirit flower, + The ghost of an old regret; + All night she stands in the garden-close, + And her face with tears is wet. + But I love the pale white rose, + For she always seems to me + A pallid nun who dreams all day + Of a distant memory. + + Alas! how well I know + That every garden spot + Is haunted by a gentle ghost + Who will not be forgot. + In the garden of the heart, + Ere the sun of life is set, + O many a wild rose blooms and dreams + Of many an old regret! + + CHARLES HANSON TOWNE + + +A HAUNTED GARDEN + + Between the moss and stone + The lonely lilies rise; + Wasted and overgrown + The tangled garden lies. + Weeds climb about the stoop + And clutch the crumbling walls; + The drowsy grasses droop-- + The night wind falls. + + The place is like a wood; + No sign is there to tell + Where rose and iris stood + That once she loved so well. + Where phlox and asters grew, + A leafless thornbush stands, + And shrubs that never knew + Her tender hands.... + + Over the broken fence + The moonbeams trail their shrouds; + Their tattered cerements + Cling to the gauzy clouds, + In ribbons frayed and thin-- + And startled by the light, + Silence shrinks deeper in + The depths of night. + + Useless lie spades and rakes; + Rust's on the garden-tools. + Yet, where the moonlight makes + Nebulous silver pools, + A ghostly shape is cast-- + Something unseen has stirred ... + Was it a breeze that passed? + Was it a bird? + + Dead roses lift their heads + Out of a grassy tomb; + From ruined pansy-beds + A thousand pansies bloom. + The gate is opened wide-- + The garden that has been, + Now blossoms like a bride ... + _Who entered in?_ + + LOUIS UNTERMEYER + + +THE DUSTY HOUR-GLASS + + It had been a trim garden, + With parterres of fringed pinks and gillyflowers, + and smooth-raked walks. + Silks and satins had brushed the box edges + of its alleys. + The curved stone lips of its fishponds + had held the rippled reflections of tricorns and + powdered periwigs. + The branches of its trees had glittered with lanterns, + and swayed to the music of flutes and violins. + + Now, the fishponds are green with scum; + And paths and flower-beds + are run together and overgrown. + Only at one end is an octagonal Summerhouse + not yet in ruins. + Through the lozenged panes of its windows, + you can see the interior: + A dusty bench; a fireplace, + with a lacing of letters carved in the stone above it; + A broken ball of worsted + rolled away into a corner. + + _Dolci, dolci, i giorni passati!_ + + AMY LOWELL + + +THE SONG OF WANDERING AENGUS + + I went out to the hazel wood + Because a fire was in my head, + And cut and peeled a hazel wand, + And hooked a berry to a thread; + And when white moths were on the wing, + And moth-like stars were flickering out, + I dropped the berry in a stream, + And caught a little silver trout. + + When I had laid it on the floor, + I went to blow the fire a-flame, + But something rustled on the floor, + And some one called me by my name: + It had become a glimmering girl, + With apple-blossom in her hair, + Who called me by my name and ran + And faded through the brightening air. + + Though I am old with wandering + Through hollow lands and hilly lands, + I will find out where she has gone, + And kiss her lips and take her hands; + And walk among long dappled grass, + And pluck till time and times are done + The silver apples of the moon, + The golden apples of the sun. + + W. B. YEATS + + +THE THREE CHERRY TREES + + There were three cherry trees once, + Grew in a garden all shady; + And there for delight of so gladsome a sight, + Walked a most beautiful lady, + Dreamed a most beautiful lady. + + Birds in those branches did sing, + Blackbird and throstle and linnet, + But she walking there was by far the most fair-- + Lovelier than all else within it, + Blackbird and throstle and linnet. + + But blossoms to berries do come, + All hanging on stalks light and slender, + And one long summer's day charmed that lady away, + With vows sweet and merry and tender; + A lover with voice low and tender. + + Moss and lichen the green branches deck; + Weeds nod in its paths green and shady; + Yet a light footstep seems there to wander in dreams, + The ghost of that beautiful lady, + That happy and beautiful lady. + + WALTER DE LA MARE + + +OLD GARDENS + + The white rose tree that spent its musk + For lovers' sweeter praise, + The stately walks we sought at dusk, + Have missed thee many days. + + Again, with once-familiar feet, + I tread the old parterre-- + But, ah, its bloom is now less sweet + Than when thy face was there. + + I hear the birds of evening call; + I take the wild perfume; + I pluck a rose--to let it fall + And perish in the gloom. + + ARTHUR UPSON + + +THE BLOOMING OF THE ROSE + + What is it like, to be a rose? + + _Old Roses, softly_, "Try and see." + + Nay, I will tarry. Let me be + In my green peacefulness and smile. + I will stay here and dream awhile. + 'Tis well for little buds to dream, + Dream--dream--who knows-- + Say, is it good to be a rose? + Old roses, tell me! Is it good? + + _Old Roses, very softly_, "Good." + + I am afraid to be a rose! + This little sphere wherein I wait, + Curled up and small and delicate, + Lets in a twilight of pure green, + Wherein are dreams of night and morn + And the sweet stillness of a world + Where all things are that are unborn. + + _Old Roses_, "Better to be born." + + I cannot be a bud for long. + My sheath is like a heart full blown, + And I, the silence of a song + Withdrawn into that heart alone, + Well knowing that it shall be sung. + Outside the great world comes and goes-- + I think I doubt, to be a rose-- + + _Old Roses_, "Doubt? To be a Rose!" + + ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH + + +THE GARDEN OF MNEMOSYNE + + There are no roses in the garden now, + The summer birds have vanished oversea, + The ashen keys hang rusty on the bough, + Autumn's gold ensigns flame from tree to tree. + + Music and perfume sleep, and light is fled, + Autumn's fine gold is faery gold, we know. + Where shall we turn for joy when flowers are dead, + When birds are silent, and the cold winds blow? + + The summer birds have vanished oversea, + But Memory's palace-courts are full of song; + There sings a nightingale for you and me, + And there a hidden lute plays all day long. + + There are no roses in the garden now, + But Memory's garden grows each day more fair; + Sun, moon, and stars her orchard close endow, + And there bloom roses--roses everywhere. + + ROSAMUND MARRIOTT WATSON + + +BALLADE OF THE DREAMLAND ROSE + + Where the waves of burning cloud are rolled + On the further shore of the sunset sea, + In a land of wonder that none behold, + There blooms a rose on the Dreamland Tree + That stands in the Garden of Mystery + Where the River of Slumber softly flows; + And whenever a dream has come to be, + A petal falls from the Dreamland Rose. + + In the heart of the tree, on a branch of gold, + A silvern bird sings endlessly + A mystic song that is ages old, + A mournful song in a minor key, + Full of the glamour of faery; + And whenever a dreamer's ears unclose + To the sound of that distant melody, + A petal falls from the Dreamland Rose. + + Dreams and visions in hosts untold + Throng around on the moonlit lea: + Dreams of age that are calm and cold, + Dreams of youth that are fair and free-- + Dark with a lone heart's agony, + Bright with a hope that no one knows-- + And whenever a dream and a dream agree, + A petal falls from the Dreamland Rose. + + ENVOI + + Princess, you gaze in a reverie + Where the drowsy firelight redly glows; + Slowly you raise your eyes to me ... + A petal falls from the Dreamland Rose. + + BRIAN HOOKER + + +THE FLOWERS OF JUNE + + These flowers of June + The gates of memory unbar; + These flowers of June + Such old-time harmonies retune, + I fain would keep the gates ajar, + So full of sweet enchantment are + These flowers of June. + + Was it the bloom of the laurel sprays, + That wakened remembrance of singing birds? + Or, was it the charm of remembered words, + That set my heart singing through somber days? + I longed for the summer-time, flower and tree; + And lo! the summer-time came with thee. + The bloom is no more, but the charm still stays. + + JAMES TERRY WHITE + + +IN MEMORY'S GARDEN + + There is a garden in the twilight lands + Of Memory, where troops of butterflies + Flutter adown the cypress paths, and bands + Of flowers mysterious droop their drowsy eyes. + + There through the silken hush come footfalls faint + And hurried through the vague parterres, and sighs + Whispering of rapture or of sweet complaint + Like ceaseless parle of bees and butterflies. + + And by one lonely pathway steal I soon + To find the flowerings of the old delight + Our hearts together knew--when lo, the moon + Turns all the cypress alleys into white. + + THOMAS WALSH + + +SERENADE + + Dark is the iris meadow, + Dark is the ivory tower, + And lightly the young moth's shadow + Sleeps on the passion-flower. + + Gone are our day's red roses. + So lovely and lost and few, + But the first star uncloses + A silver bud in the blue. + + Night, and a flame in the embers + Where the seal of the years was set,-- + When the almond-bough remembers + How shall my heart forget? + + MARJORIE L. C. PICKTHALL + + +"WHAT HEART BUT FEARS A FRAGRANCE?" + + What heart but fears a fragrance? + Alien they + Who breathe in the white lilac only May; + For there be other spirits unto whom + Fate's kiss lies dreaming in each stray perfume! + + Who mock at ghosts of odour--poor they be! + Bereft the scented balms of memory, + For unto one in April's rain-blest earth + There starts for aye the sharp, glad cry of birth; + And Love will find in rooms unbarred for years + Familiar sweetness loosing sudden tears, + Clasping the will in mastering embrace + As in the presence of a phantom grace. + + Then there be odours pungent--fires in Fall + The gipsying of boyhood to recall; + And there be perfumes holy--nay, but one + Whose pang is like none other 'neath the sun + To drown the sinking senses in a joy + Beyond all time to weaken or destroy! + Odours there be that swoon, entreat, caress-- + Elusive thrall, to doom or stab or bless; + Each vagrant scent that holds the breath in fee + Doth wed the heart in Life's eternity. + + Who fear no wraiths of fragrance--sorry they; + Who breathe in lilac odours only May; + For there be other mortals unto whom + White magic wanders in each stray perfume. + + MARTHA GILBERT DICKINSON BIANCHI + + +YEARS AFTERWARD + + It is not sight or sound + That, when a heart forgets, + Most makes it to remember: + It's some old poignant scent re-found-- + Like breath of April violets, + Or apples of September. + + It isn't song or scene + That stirs the tears again: + It's brush smoke from the hills at night, + Spicy and sweet; or that wet, keen, + Long lost aroma of delight, + Fresh ploughed fields after rain. + + NANCY BYRD TURNER + + +AUTUMNAL + + Across the scented garden of my dreams + Where roses grew, Time passes like a thief, + Among my trees his silver sickle gleams, + The grass is stained with many a ruddy leaf; + And on cold winds the petals float away + That were the pride of June and her array. + + The bare boughs weave a net upon the sky + To catch Love's wings and his fair body bruise; + There are no flowers in the rosary-- + No song-birds in the mournful avenues; + Though on the sodden air not lightly breaks + The elegy of Youth, whom love forsakes. + + Ah, Time! one flower of all my garden spare, + One rose of all the roses, that in this + I may possess my love's perfumed hair + And all the crimson secrets of her kiss. + Grant me one rose that I may drink its wine, + And from her lips win the last anodyne. + + For I have learnt too many things to live, + And I have loved too many things to die; + But all my barren acres I would give + For one red blossom of eternity, + To animate the darkness and delight + The spaces and the silences of night. + + But dreams are tender flowers that in their birth + Are very near to death, and I shall reap, + Who planted wonder, unavailing earth, + Harsh thorns and miserable husks of sleep. + I have had dreams, but have not conquered Time, + And love shall vanish like an empty rhyme. + + RICHARD MIDDLETON + + +"OH, TELL ME HOW MY GARDEN GROWS" + + Oh, tell me how my garden grows, + Now I no more may labor there; + Do still the lily and the rose + Bloom on without my fostering care? + + Do peonies blush as deep with pride, + The larkspurs burn as bright a blue, + And velvet pansies stare as wide + I wonder, as they used to do? + + The tender things that would not blow + Unless I coaxed them, do they raise + Their petals in a sturdy row, + Forgetful, to the stranger's gaze? + + Or do they show a paler shade, + And sigh a little in the wind + For one whose sheltering presence made + Their step-dame Nature less unkind? + + Oh, tell me how my garden grows, + Where I no more may take delight, + And if some dream of me it knows, + Who dream of it by day and night. + + MILDRED HOWELLS + + +HER GARDEN + + This was her dearest walk last year. Her hands + Set all the tiny plants, and tenderly + Pressed firm the unfamiliar soil; and she + It was who watered them at evening time. + She loved them; and I too, because of her. + And now another June has come, while I + Am walking in the shadow, sad, alone. + Yet when I reach the rose-path that was hers, + And breathe the fragrancy of bud and bloom, + She stands beside; the murmur of the leaves, + The well-remembered rustle of her gown, + And low her whisper comes, "My dear! My dear!" + This is her garden. Only she and I-- + But always we--may walk its hallowed ways; + And all the thoughts she planted in my heart, + Sunned with her smile, and chastened with her tears, + Again have blossomed--love's perennials. + + ELDREDGE DENISON + + +THE LITTLE GHOST + + I knew her for a little ghost + That in my garden walked,-- + The wall is high--higher than most-- + And the green gate was locked; + + And yet I did not think of that + Till after she was gone; + I knew her by the broad white hat, + All ruffled, she had on, + + By the dear ruffles round her feet, + By her small hands, that hung + In their lace mitts, austere and sweet, + Her gown's white folds among. + + I watched to see if she would stay, + What she would do,--and, oh, + She looked as if she liked the way + I let my garden grow! + + She bent above my favorite mint + With conscious garden grace, + She smiled and smiled,--there was no hint + Of sadness in her face; + + She held her gown on either side, + To let her slippers show, + And up the walk she went with pride, + The way great ladies go; + + And where the wall is built in new, + And is of ivy bare, + She paused,--then opened and passed through + A gate that once was there. + + EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY + + +ROSES IN THE SUBWAY + + A wan-cheeked girl with faded eyes + Came stumbling down the crowded car, + Clutching her burden to her breast + As though she held a star. + + Roses, I swear it! Red and sweet + And struggling from her pinched white hands, + Roses ... like captured hostages + From far and fairy lands! + + The thunder of the rushing train + Was like a hush.... The flower scent + Breathed faintly on the stale, whirled air + Like some dim sacrament-- + + I saw a garden stretching out + And morning on it like a crown-- + And o'er a bed of crimson bloom + My mother ... stooping down. + + DANA BURNET + + + + + THE GARDEN OVER-SEAS + + +A GARDEN PRAYER + + _That we are mortals and on earth must dwell + Thou knowest, Allah, and didst give us bread-- + And remembering of our souls didst give us food of flowers-- + Thy name be hallowed._ + + THOMAS WALSH + + +IN THE GARDEN-CLOSE AT MEZRA + + In the garden-close at Mezra, + When the cactus was in flower, + We sat apart together + Through the languid noonday hour. + + I was her Arab lover, + (Of course it was all in play!) + And I called her "Star-of-Twilight," + And I called her "Dream-of-Day." + + She--has she quite forgotten? + Soothly, I do not know + If ever she tenderly opens + The volume of Long Ago. + + But I--I can still remember + Her lips like the cactus flower + In the garden-close at Mezra + At the languid noonday hour! + + CLINTON SCOLLARD + + +THE CACTUS + + The scarlet flower, with never a sister-leaf, + Stemless, springs from the edge of the Cactus-thorn: + Thus from the rugged wounds of desperate grief + A beautiful Thought, perfect and pure, is born. + + LAURENCE HOPE + + +THE WHITE PEACOCK + + Here where the sunlight + Floodeth the garden, + Where the pomegranate + Reareth its glory + Of gorgeous blossom; + Where the oleanders + Dream through the noontides; + And, like surf o' the sea + Round cliffs of basalt, + The thick magnolias + In billowy masses + Front the sombre green of the ilexes: + Here where the heat lies + Pale blue in the hollows, + Where blue are the shadows + On the fronds of the cactus, + Where pale blue the gleaming + Of fir and cypress, + With the cones upon them + Amber or glowing with virgin gold: + Here where the honey-flower + Makes the heat fragrant, + As though from the gardens + Of Gulistan, + Where the bulbul singeth + Through a mist of roses + A breath were borne: + Here where the dream-flowers, + The cream-white poppies + Silently waver, + And where the Scirocco, + Faint in the hollows, + Foldeth his soft white wings in the sunlight, + And lieth sleeping + Deep in the heart of + A sea of white violets: + Here, as the breath, as the soul of this beauty, + Moveth in silence, and dreamlike, and slowly, + White as a snow-drift in mountain-valleys + When softly upon it the gold light lingers: + White as the foam o' the sea that is driven + O'er billows of azure agleam with sun-yellow: + Cream-white and soft as the breasts of a girl, + Moves the White Peacock, as though through the noontide + A dream of the moonlight were real for a moment. + Dim on the beautiful fan that he spreadeth, + Foldeth and spreadeth abroad in the sunlight, + Dim on the cream-white are blue adumbrations, + Shadows so pale in their delicate blueness + That visions they seem as of vanishing violets, + The fragrant white violets veined with azure, + Pale, pale as the breath of blue smoke in far woodlands. + Here, as the breath, as the soul of this beauty, + White as the cloud through the heats of the noontide + Moves the White Peacock. + + WILLIAM SHARP + + +AT ISOLA BELLA + + Once at Isola Bella, + With sunset in the sky, + We stood on the topmost terrace-- + You and I. + + Around us Lago Maggiore, + Incomparably fair, + Gave back the hues of heaven + To the Italian air. + + Then up the marble terrace + Below the cypress trees + Came a flock of milk-white peacocks + With fans spread to the breeze. + + Rose-pink on each outspread feather, + Rose-pink upon the crest,-- + Never were birds in plumage + So ravishingly drest! + + Wherever we walked they followed, + Stately at our feet, + No picture so enchanting + Will any hour repeat. + + And here in the murky city + Those milk-white peacocks seem + To follow and follow me ever + Like ghosts of a haunting dream. + + JESSIE B. RITTENHOUSE + + +THE FOUNTAIN + + All through the deep blue night + The fountain sang alone; + It sang to the drowsy heart + Of the satyr carved in stone. + + The fountain sang and sang + But the satyr never stirred-- + Only the great white moon + In the empty heaven heard. + + The fountain sang and sang + While on the marble rim + The milk-white peacocks slept, + And their dreams were strange and dim. + + Bright dew was on the grass, + And on the ilex, dew, + The dreamy milk-white birds + Were all a-glisten, too. + + The fountain sang and sang + The things one cannot tell; + The dreaming peacocks stirred + And the gleaming dew-drops fell. + + SARA TEASDALE + + +THE CHAMPA FLOWER + +Supposing I became a champa flower, just for fun, and grew on a branch +high up that tree, and shook in the wind with laughter and danced upon +the newly budded leaves, would you know me, mother? + +You would call, "Baby, where are you?" and I should laugh to myself and +keep quite quiet. + +I should slyly open my petals and watch you at your work. + +When after your bath, with wet hair spread on your shoulders, you walked +through the shadow of the champa tree to the little court where you say +your prayers, you would notice the scent of the flower, but not know +that it came from me. + +When after the midday meal you sat at the window reading _Ramayana_, and +the tree's shadow fell over your hair and your lap, I should fling my +wee little shadow on to the page of your book, just where you were +reading. + +But would you guess that it was the tiny shadow of your little child? + +When in the evening you went to the cow-shed with the lighted lamp in +your hand, I should suddenly drop on to the earth again and be your own +baby once more, and beg you to tell me a story. + +"Where have you been, you naughty child?" + +"I won't tell you, mother." That's what you and I would say then. + + RABINDRANATH TAGORE + + +IN AN EGYPTIAN GARDEN + + Can it be winter otherwhere? + Forsooth, it seems not so! + The moonlight on the garden square + Must be the only snow, + For all about me, fragrant fair, + The blooms of summer blow. + + Wine-lipped and beautiful and bland, + The rose displays its dower; + The heavy-scented citron and + The stainless lily-tower; + And whiter than a houri's hand, + El Ful, the Arab flower. + + In purple silhouette a palm + Lifts from a vine-wreathed plinth + Against a sky whose cloudless calm + Is hued like hyacinth; + And echoes with a bulbul's psalm + The jasmine labyrinth. + + In life's tumultuous ocean swell + Here is a charmèd isle; + I hear a late muezzin tell + His holy tale the while, + And like the faint notes of a bell + The boat-songs of old Nile. + + Across my spirit thrills no theme + That is not marvel-bright; + I see within the lotus gleam + The nectar of delight, + And, tasting it, I drift and dream + Adown the glamoured night! + + CLINTON SCOLLARD + + +EVENING IN OLD JAPAN + + Peaceful and mellow looks the sky to-night + As some great Buddha made of ivory, + Upon whose brow is set a moonstone white, + The shining emblem of its purity. + + A dim blue haze like incense, rising high, + Merges together mountain, tree, and stream; + But over all still broods an ivory sky + Cloudless as Buddha's face, one gem agleam. + + ANTOINETTE DE COURSEY PATTERSON + + +REFLECTIONS + + When I looked into your eyes, + I saw a garden + With peonies, and tinkling pagodas, + And round-arched bridges + Over still lakes. + + A woman sat beside the water + In a rain-blue, silken garment. + She reached through the water + To pluck the crimson peonies + Beneath the surface. + + But as she grasped the stems, + They jarred and broke into white-green ripples. + And as she drew out her hand, + The water drops dripping from it + Stained her rain-blue dress like tears. + + AMY LOWELL + + +IN THE GARDEN + + Do you remember, Sister, + The golden afternoon + When we looked upon the lotus + And listened to the croon + Of the doves that sat together + Among the flowers of June? + + And deep among the valleys + A far, sweet sound was heard-- + Some fluter in the forest + That like a magic bird + Sang of the unseen heavens + And mystic Way and Word. + + PAI TA-SHUN + + +THE DESERTED GARDEN + + I hear no more the swish of silks + Along the marble walks; + The autumn wind blows sharp and cold + Among the flowerless stalks. + + In place of petals of the peach + Fast drifts the yellow leaf; + And looking in the lotus-pond + I see one face of grief. + + PAI TA-SHUN + + +A ROMAN GARDEN + + All night above that garden the rose-flushed moon will sail, + Making the darkness deeper where hides the nightingale. + Below the Sabine mountain + The tossed and slender fountain + Will curve, a lily pale; + And where the plumed pine soars tallest, + 'Tis there, O nightingale, thou callest; + Where the loud water leaps the highest. + 'Tis there, O nightingale, thou criest; + In the dripping luscious dark, + Hark, oh, hark! + Wonderful, delirious, + Soul of joy mysterious. + + A garden full of fragrances, + Of pauses and of cadences, + Whence come they all? + Of cypresses and ilex-trees, + Plumes and dark candles like to these + Were long ago Persephone's. + + All night within that garden + The glimmering gods of stone, + The satyrs and the naiads + Will laugh to be alone, + In starless courts of shadows + By silence overgrown, + Save for the nightingale's + Wild lyric thither blown. + + By pools and dusky closes + Dim shapes will move about, + Twirled wands and masks and faces, + Dancers and wreaths of roses, + The moonlight's trick, no doubt. + A naked nymph upon the stair, + A sculptured vine that clasps the air,-- + And then one Bacchic bird somewhere + Will pour his passion out. + All night above that garden the rose-flushed moon will sail, + Making the darkness deeper where hides the nightingale. + + Down yonder velvet alley, + Floats Daphne like a feather, + A finger bidding silence, + The dark and she together. + Look, where the secret fount is misting. + Apollo, thou shalt have thy trysting: + For where a ruined sphinx lay smiling + The wood-girl waits thee, white, beguiling. + All night above that garden the rose-flushed moon will sail, + Making the darkness deeper where hides the nightingale. + + FLORENCE WILKINSON EVANS + + +COMO IN APRIL + + The wind is Winter, though the sun be Spring: + The icy rills have scarce begun to flow; + The birds unconfidently fly and sing. + + As on the land once fell the northern foe, + The hostile mountains from the passes fling + Their vandal blasts upon the lake below. + + Not yet the round clouds of the Maytime cling + Above the world's blue wonder's curving show, + And tempt to linger with their lingering. + + Yet doth each slope a vernal promise know: + See, mounting yonder, white as angel's wing. + A snow of bloom to meet the bloom of snow. + + * * * * * + + Love, need we more than our imagining + To make the whole year May? What though + The wind be Winter if the heart be Spring? + + ROBERT UNDERWOOD JOHNSON + + +AN EXILE'S GARDEN + + I live in the heart of a garden + With cypresses all about; + To the east and west, and the south and north, + Straight shadowy paths run out. + + There are ancient gods in my garden; + They have faces young and pale; + And a hundred thousand roses here + Enrapture the nightingale. + + Yet, among the gods of the garden, + The roses and gods, I think, + Daylong, of a far-off clover field, + And the song of a bob-o-link. + + SOPHIE JEWETT + + +THE CLOISTER GARDEN AT CERTOSA + + It is a place monastic, set above + The city's pride and pleasuring below; + The benediction of the sky breathes love + Over the olive trees and vines a-row. + + The old gray walls are delicate to prayer + And silence; in the corridors dim-lit + Lurks many a painting, many a fresco rare + Done by some brother for the joy of it. + + Pale lavender and red pomegranate trees, + Roses and poppies spilling garden sweets; + And tall lush grass and grain, and, circling these, + The cool of cloistral walks and shadowed seats. + + By a sun-dial in the center, rests + One brown-robed Father; and his lips recite + Some holy word; little he heeds the jests + Of those who make the world their chief delight. + + While Florence, far below, from dreamy towers + Throws back the sun and tolls the tranquil hours. + + RICHARD BURTON + + +A GARDEN IN VENICE + + There is a garden in a vineyard set + Beneath the spell of Adriatic skies; + A lovely place of dreams and ecstasies, + Of color tangled in a verdant net, + The shimmer of the low lagoon whose fret + Washes the garden's length, and rose that vies + With rose, pomegranate and tall flowers that rise + Above their fellows in one glory met. + And there I think in the still summer night, + When all the world is sleeping save the moon + And the blest nightingale who shuns the noon, + The closed flowers open out of sheer delight + And the white lilies bow their slender stalks, + For thro' them, 'neath the vines Madonna walks. + + DOROTHY FRANCES GURNEY + + +IN A GARDEN OF GRANADA + + The city rumour rises all the day + Across the potted plants along the wall; + The sun and winds upon the slopes hold sway, + Tossing the dust and shadows in a squall. + + The sun is old and weary--weary here + Upon the ageing roofs and miradors, + The broken terraces and basins drear + Where each old bell its ancient echoes pours. + + Ringing--what memories to ring--to those + That linger here--the lizard and the cat, + That haunt these solitudes in state morose + Through the long day their silent habitat. + + Untroubled,--save when in the moonlight steals + Some voice in song across the lower wall, + And sudden magic each old rafter feels, + The while the echoes round it rise and fall. + + For as the wail of love or sorrow rings + Along the night soft steps are on the stair + And pathway; in the broken window wings + Are stirring, and white arms are lolling there. + + And that old rose tree lifts its head anew, + And there is perfume o'er the hills afar, + From where Alhambra's crescent cleaves the blue + To where agleam Genil and Darro are. + + O Voice!--what is thy necromantic word + That all Granada waits adown the years? + Is it the sound some love-swept night has heard?-- + The cry of love amid the cry of tears?-- + + THOMAS WALSH + + +AMIEL'S GARDEN + + His Garden! His bright candelabra trees + En fête. His lilacs steeped in joy! His sky + Limpid and blue! The same flecked shadows lie + Athwart this path he paced. His reveries + Float in the air. His moods, his ecstasies + Still linger charmed. Pale butterflies flit by-- + Were one his soul it had not found on high + Banquet more choice than those infinities + He daily knew. And now no one to hear + The hovering hours, the singing grass, to feel + The wrinkles of the soul smooth out, to see + God's shadow bend down from eternity-- + His garden empty! Yet I gently steal + Lest I disturb his dreams still smiling near. + + GERTRUDE HUNTINGTON MCGIFFERT + + +EDEN-HUNGER + + O that a nest, my mate! were once more ours, + Where we, by vain and barren change untutored, + Could have grave friendships with wise trees and flowers, + And live the great, green life of field and orchard! + + From the cold birthday of the daffodils, + E'en to that listening pause that is November, + O to confide in woods, confer with hills, + And then--then, to that palmland you remember, + + Fly swift, where seas that brook not Winter's rule + Are one vast violet breaking into lilies; + There where we spent our first strange wedded Yule, + In the far, golden, fire-hearted Antilles. + + WILLIAM WATSON + + +THE GARDEN AT BEMERTON + +FOR A FLYLEAF OF HERBERT'S POEMS + + Year after year, from dusk to dusk, + How sweet this English garden grows, + Steeped in two centuries' sun and musk, + Walled from the world in gray repose, + Harbor of honey-freighted bees, + And wealthy with the rose. + + Here pinks with spices in their throats + Nod by the bitter marigold; + Here nightingales with haunting notes, + When west and east with stars are bold, + From out the twisted hawthorn-trees, + Sing back the weathers old. + + All tuneful winds do down it pass; + The leaves a sudden whiteness show, + And delicate noises fill the grass; + The only flakes its spaces know + Are petals blown off briers long, + And heaped on blades below. + + Ah! dawn and dusk, year after year, + 'Tis more than these that keeps it rare! + We see the saintly Master here, + Pacing along the alleys fair, + And catch the throbbing of a song + Across the amber air! + + LIZETTE WOODWORTH REESE + + +IN AN OXFORD GARDEN + + As one whose road winds upward turns his face + Unto the valleys where he late hath stood, + Leaning upon his staff in peace to brood + On many a beauty of the distant place, + So I in this cool garden pause a space, + Reviewing many things in many a mood, + Accumulating friends in solitude + From the assembly of my thoughts and days. + + ARTHUR UPSON + + + + + THE HOMELY GARDEN + + +"GRANDMOTHER'S GATHERING BONESET" + + _Grandmother's gathering boneset to-day; + In the garret she'll dry and hang it away. + Next winter I'll "need" some boneset tea-- + I wish she wouldn't think always of me!_ + + EDITH M. THOMAS + + +A BREATH OF MINT + + What small leaf-fingers veined with emerald light + Lay on my heart that touch of elfin might? + + What spirals of sharp perfume do they fling, + To blur my page with swift remembering? + + Borne in a country basket marketward, + Their message is a music spirit-heard, + + A pebble-hindered lilt and gurgle and run + Of tawny singing water in the sun. + + Their coolness brings that ecstasy I knew + Down by the mint-fringed brook that wandered through + + My mellow meadows set with linden-trees + Loud with the summer jargon of the bees. + + Their magic has its way with me until + I see the storm's dark wing shadow the hill + + As once I saw: and draw sharp breath again, + To feel their arrowy fragrance pierce the rain. + + O sudden urging sweetness in the air, + Exhaled, diffused about me everywhere, + + Yours is the subtlest word the summer saith, + And vanished summers sigh upon your breath. + + GRACE HAZARD CONKLING + + +A SELLER OF HERBS + + Black, comely, of abiding cheer, + Three times a week she fares, + Townward from gabled Windermere, + To sell her dainty wares. + + Green balms she brings from winding lanes, + And some in handfuls tall, + Of the old days of Annes and Janes, + Grown by a kitchen wall. + + Keen mint has she in dewy sprigs, + With spears of violet; + And the spiced bloom of elder-twigs + In a field's hollow set. + + My snatch of May I get from her, + In white buds off a tree; + June in one whiff of lavender, + That breaks my heart for me. + + The swaying boughs of Windermere, + Each gust that takes the grass, + High over the town roar I hear, + When that old stall I pass. + + What homely memories are mine, + At sight of her quaint stalks; + Of grave dusks mellowing like wine + Down long, box-bordered walks; + + Of garret windows eastward thrust, + Of rafters shining dim, + And heaped with herbs as gray as dust + All scented to the brim. + + This lady of the market-place, + Three times a week and more, + I pray her seasons thick with grace; + And ever at her door, + + Shut from the road by wall of stone, + And ample cherry trees, + A garden fair as Herrick's own, + And just as full of bees! + + LIZETTE WOODWORTH REESE + + +LAVENDER + + Gray walls that lichen stains, + That take the sun and the rains, + Old, stately, and wise: + Clipt yews, old lawns flag-bordered, + In ancient ways yet ordered; + South walks where the loud bee plies + Daylong till Summer flies-- + Here grows Lavender, here breathes England. + + Gay cottage gardens, glad, + Comely, unkempt, and mad, + Jumbled, jolly, and quaint; + Nooks where some old man dozes; + Currants and beans and roses + Mingling without restraint; + A wicket that long lacks paint-- + Here grows Lavender, here breathes England. + + Sprawling for elbow-room, + Spearing straight spikes of bloom, + Clean, wayward, and tough; + Sweet and tall and slender, + True, enduring, and tender, + Buoyant and bold and bluff, + Simplest, sanest of stuff-- + Thus grows Lavender, thence breathes England. + + W. W. BLAIR FISH + + +DAWN IN MY GARDEN + + I went into my garden at break of Delight, + Before Joy had risen in the Eastern sky, + To see how many cucumbers had happened over night, + And how much higher stood the corn that yesterday was high. + + I went into my garden when Rest had fallen away + From the tops of blue hills, from the valleys gold and green, + To see how far the beans had travelled up into the day, + And whether all my lettuces were glad and cool and clean. + + I went into my garden when Mirth was laughing low + Through the sharp-scented leaves of the lush tomato vines, + Through the long blue-grey leaves of the turnips in a row, + Where early in the every day the dew shakes and shines. + + Oh, Rest had slipped away from the valleys green and gold, + From the tops of blue hills that were silent all the night, + But the big, round Joy was rising, busy and bold, + When I went into my garden at break of Delight! + + MARGUERITE WILKINSON + + +THE PROUD VEGETABLES + + In a funny little garden not much bigger than a mat, + There lived a thriving family, its members all were fat; + But some were short, and some were tall, and some were almost round, + And some ran high on bamboo poles, and some lay on the ground. + + Of these old Father Pumpkin was, perhaps, the proudest one. + He claimed to trace his family vine directly from the sun. + "We both are round and yellow, we both are bright," said he, + "A stronger family likeness one could scarcely wish to see." + + Old Mrs. Squash hung on the fence; she had a crooked neck, + Perhaps 'twas hanging made it so,--her nerves were quite a wreck. + Near by, upon a planted row of faggots, dry and lean, + The young cucumbers climbed to swing their Indian clubs of green. + + A big white _daikon_ hid in earth beneath his leafy crest; + And mole-like sweet potatoes crept around his quiet nest. + Above were growing pearly pease, and beans of many kinds + With pods like tiny castanets to mock the summer winds. + + There, in a spot that feels the sun, the swarthy egg-plant weaves + Great webs of frosted tapestry and hangs them out for leaves. + Its funny azure blossoms give a merry, shrivelled wink, + And lifting up the leaves display great drops of purple ink. + + Now, life went on in harmony and pleasing indolence + Till Mrs. Squash had vertigo and tumbled off the fence; + But not to earth she fell! Alas,--but down, with all her force, + Upon old Father Pumpkin's head, and cracked his skull, of course. + + At this a fearful din arose. The pods began to split, + Cucumbers turned a sickly hue, the _daikon_ had a fit, + The sweet potatoes rent the ground,--the egg-plant dropped his loom, + While every polished berry seemed to gain an added gloom. + + And, worst of all, there came a man, who once had planted them. + He dug that little family up by root and leaf and stem, + He piled them high in baskets, in a most unfeeling way-- + All this was told me by the cook,--we ate the last to-day. + + MARY MCNEIL FENOLLOSA + + +THE CHOICE + + When skies are blue and days are bright + A kitchen-garden's my delight, + Set round with rows of decent box + And blowsy girls of hollyhocks. + + Before the lark his Lauds hath done + And ere the corncrake's southward gone; + Before the thrush good-night hath said + And the young Summer's put to bed. + + The currant-bushes' spicy smell, + Homely and honest, likes me well, + The while on strawberries I feast, + And raspberries the sun hath kissed. + + Beans all a-blowing by a row + Of hives that great with honey go, + With mignonette and heaths to yield + The plundering bee his honey-field. + + Sweet herbs in plenty, blue borage + And the delicious mint and sage, + Rosemary, marjoram, and rue, + And thyme to scent the winter through. + + Here are small apples growing round, + And apricots all golden-gowned, + And plums that presently will flush + And show their bush a Burning Bush. + + Cherries in nets against the wall, + Where Master Thrush his madrigal + Sings, and makes oath a churl is he + Who grudges cherries for a fee. + + Lavender, sweet-briar, orris. Here + Shall Beauty make her pomander, + Her sweet-balls for to lay in clothes + That wrap her as the leaves the rose. + + Take roses red and lilies white, + A kitchen-garden's my delight; + Its gillyflowers and phlox and cloves, + And its tall cote of irised doves. + + KATHARINE TYNAN + + +THOUGHTS FER THE DISCURAGED FARMER + + The summer winds is sniffin' round the bloomin' locus' trees; + And the clover in the pastur' is a big day fer the bees, + And they been a-swiggin' honey, above board and on the sly, + Tel they stutter in theyr buzzin' and stagger as they fly. + The flicker on the fence-rail 'pears to jest spit on his wings + And roll up his feathers, by the sassy way he sings; + And the hoss-fly is a-whettin'-up his forelegs fer biz, + And the off-mare is a-switchin' all of her tail they is. + + You can hear the blackbirds jawin' as they foller up the plow-- + Oh, theyr bound to git theyr brekfast, and theyr not a carin' how; + So they quarrel in the furries, and they quarrel on the wing-- + But theyr peaceabler in pot-pies than any other thing: + And it's when I git my shotgun drawed up in stiddy rest, + She's as full of tribbelation as a yeller-jacket's nest; + And a few shots before dinner, when the sun's a-shinin' right, + Seems to kindo'-sorto' sharpen up a feller's appetite! + + They's been a heap o' rain, but the sun's out to-day, + And the clouds of the wet spell is all cleared away, + And the woods is all the greener, and the grass is greener still; + It may rain again to-morry, but I don't think it will. + Some says the crops is ruined, and the corn's drownded out, + And propha-sy the wheat will be a failure, without doubt; + But the kind Providence that has never failed us yet, + Will be on hand onc't more at the 'leventh hour, I bet! + + Does the medder-lark complain, as he swims high and dry + Through the waves of the wind and the blue of the sky? + Does the quail set up and whissel in a disappointed way, + Er hang his head in silence, and sorrow all the day? + Is the chipmuck's health a-failin'?--Does he walk, er does he run? + Don't the buzzards ooze around up thare jest like they've allus done? + Is they anything the matter with the rooster's lungs er voice? + Ort a mortul be complainin' when dumb animals rejoice? + + Then let us, one and all, be contented with our lot; + The June is here this morning, and the sun is shining hot. + Oh! let us fill our harts up with the glory of the day, + And banish ev'ry doubt and care and sorrow fur away! + Whatever be our station, with Providence fer guide, + Sich fine circumstances ort to make us satisfied; + Fer the world is full of roses, and the roses full of dew, + And the dew is full of heavenly love that drips fer me and you. + + JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY + + +GRACE FOR GARDENS + + Lord God in Paradise, + Look upon our sowing, + Bless the little gardens + And the good green growing! + Give us sun, + Give us rain, + Bless the orchards + And the grain! + + Lord God in Paradise, + Please bless the beans and peas, + Give us corn full on the ear-- + We will praise Thee, Lord, for these! + Bless the blossom + And the root, + Bless the seed + And the fruit! + + Lord God in Paradise, + Over my brown field is seen, + Trembling and adventuring. + A miracle of green. + Send such grace + As you know, + To keep it safe + And make it grow! + + Lord God in Paradise, + For the wonder of the seed, + Wondering, we praise you, while + We tell you of our need. + Look down from Paradise, + Look upon our sowing, + Bless the little gardens + And the good green growing! + Give us sun, + Give us rain, + Bless the orchards + And the grain! + + LOUISE DRISCOLL + + + + + SILVER BELLS AND COCKLE SHELLS + + +PLANTING + + _The sky is blue and soft to-day, + The grass is green this month of May, + And Muvver with her spade and rake + My little garden helps me make; + For every one must plant more seeds + To grow the food that each one needs: + Potatoes, corn, green peas, and beets, + The kind of beans that sister eats, + We plant in rows marked by a string, + For neatness is the one great thing; + The earth is then raked smooth and pressed + And Nature 'tends to all the rest._ + + ROBERT LIVINGSTON + + +SPRING PATCHWORK + + If I could patch a coverlet + From pieces of the Spring, + What dreams a happy child would have + Beneath so fair a thing! + + A center of the dear blue sky, + A bordering of green, + With patches of the yellow sun + All chequered in between. + + Bright ribbons of the silky grass + Laced prettily across, + With satin of new little leaves, + And velvet of the moss. + + In every corner, violets, + Half-hidden from the view, + With many-flowered squares betwixt, + Of pinky tints and blue; + + Of flossy silk and gossamer, + Of tissue and brocade; + A warp of rosy morning mist, + A woof of purple shade. + + Embroideries of little vines, + And spider-webs of lace, + With tassels of the alder tied + At each convenient place. + + With gold-thread I would sew the seams, + And needles of the pine, + Oh, never child in all the world + Would have a quilt like mine! + + ABBIE FARWELL BROWN + + +BABY'S VALENTINE + + Valentine, O Valentine, + Pretty little Love of mine; + Little Love whose yellow hair + Makes the daffodils despair; + Little Love whose shining eyes + Fill the stars with sad surprise: + Hither turn your ten wee toes, + Each a tiny shut-up rose, + End most fitting and complete + For the rosy-pinky feet; + Toddle, toddle here to me, + For I'm waiting, do you see?-- + Waiting for to call you mine, + Valentine, O Valentine! + + Valentine, O Valentine, + I will dress you up so fine! + Here's a frock of tulip-leaves, + Trimmed with lace the spider weaves; + Here's a cap of larkspur blue, + Just precisely made for you; + Here's a mantle scarlet-dyed, + Once the tiger-lily's pride, + Spotted all with velvet black + Like the fire-beetle's back; + Lady-slippers on your feet, + Now behold you all complete! + Come and let me call you mine, + Valentine, O Valentine! + + Valentine, O Valentine, + Now a wreath for you I'll twine. + I will set you on a throne + Where the damask rose has blown, + Dropping all her velvet bloom, + Carpeting your leafy room: + Here while you shall sit in pride, + Butterflies all rainbow-pied, + Dandy beetles gold and green, + Creeping, flying, shall be seen, + Every bird that shakes his wings, + Every katydid that sings, + Wasp and bee with buzz and hum. + Hither, hither see them come, + Creeping all before your feet, + Rendering their homage meet. + But 'tis I that call you mine, + Valentine, O Valentine! + + LAURA E. RICHARDS + + +BABY SEED SONG + + Little brown brother, oh! little brown brother, + Are you awake in the dark? + Here we lie cosily, close to each other: + Hark to the song of the lark-- + "Waken!" the lark says, "waken and dress you; + Put on your green coats and gay, + Blue sky will shine on you, sunshine caress you-- + Waken! 'tis morning--'tis May!" + + Little brown brother, oh! little brown brother, + What kind of flower will you be? + I'll be a poppy--all white, like my mother; + Do be a poppy like me. + What! you're a sun-flower? How I shall miss you + When you're grown golden and high! + But I shall send all the bees up to kiss you; + Little brown brother, good-bye. + + E. NESBIT + + +RAIN IN THE NIGHT + + Raining, raining, + All night long; + Sometimes loud, sometimes soft, + Just like a song. + + There'll be rivers in the gutters + And lakes along the street. + It will make our lazy kitty + Wash his little dirty feet. + + The roses will wear diamonds + Like kings and queens at court; + But the pansies all get muddy + Because they are so short. + + I'll sail my boat to-morrow + In wonderful new places, + But first I'll take my watering-pot + And wash the pansies' faces. + + AMELIA JOSEPHINE BURR + + +A LITTLE GIRL'S SONGS + +I + +SPRING SONG + + I love daffodils. + I love Narcissus when he bends his head. + I can hardly keep March and spring and Sunday and daffodils + Out of my rhyme of song. + Do you know anything about the spring + When it comes again? + God knows about it while winter is lasting: + Flowers bring him power in the spring, + And birds bring it, and children. + He is sometimes sad and alone + Up there in the sky trying to keep his worlds happy. + I bring him songs when he is in his sadness, and weary. + I tell him how I used to wander out to study stars and the moon he + made + And flowers in the dark of the wood. + I keep reminding him about his flowers he has forgotten, + And that snowdrops are up. + What can I say to make him listen? + "God," I say, + "Don't you care! + Nobody must be sad or sorry + In the spring-time of flowers." + +II + +VELVETS + +_By a Bed of Pansies_ + + This pansy has a thinking face + Like the yellow moon. + This one has a face with white blots: + I call him the clown. + Here goes one down the grass + With a pretty look of plumpness: + She is a little girl going to school + With her hands in the pockets of her pinafore. + Her name is Sue. + I like this one, in a bonnet, + Waiting-- + Her eyes are so deep! + But these on the other side, + These that wear purple and blue, + They are the Velvets, + The king with his cloak, + The queen with her gown, + The prince with his feather. + These are dark and quiet + And stay alone. + + _I know you, Velvets + Color of Dark, + Like the pine-tree on the hill + When stars shine!_ + + HILDA CONKLING + (_Six years old_) + + +WHEN SWALLOWS BUILD + + When apple-blossom time doth come + And with their scent the air is filled, + And fields are full of buttercups,-- + 'Tis then the swallows build. + + And when the rippling brooks are deep, + Filled to the overflowing, + When o'er the hills and meadows fair + The south wind's softly blowing, + + With sun a-shining, birds a-singing + Till their joyous throats are thrilled, + And with all the world in laughter,-- + 'Tis then the swallows build. + + CATHERINE PARMENTER + (_Eleven years old_) + + +SPRING PLANTING + + "What shall we plant for our Summer, my boy,-- + Seeds of enchantment and seedlings of joy? + Brave little cuttings of laughter and light? + Then shall our summer be flowery and bright." + + "Nay!--You are wrong in your planting," said he, + "Have we not grass and the weeds and a tree? + Why should we water and weary away + For sake of a flower that lives but a day!" + + So she made gardens which he would not dig, + Tended her apricot, apple and fig. + Then, when one morning he chanced to appear, + Sadly he noticed--"No trespassing here." + + HELEN HAY WHITNEY + + +IF I COULD DIG LIKE A RABBIT + + If I could dig holes in the ground like a rabbit, + D'you know what I'd do? + Well, I'd dig a deep hole-- + Right under that tree-- + Then I'd go down--and down, + And find out where the tree starts, + And I'd find out how it eats and drinks, + And what makes it grow.... + Yes I would! + P'r'aps I could dig a hole right up into that tree, + And--see--it--grow!... + But p'r'aps I couldn't. + + Anyway I could dig 'way down, + And see all the flower seeds, + And all the grass seeds, + And under that big rock there might be some rock seeds. + And I'd see everything start growing. + + Do all the seeds make noises + When they start to grow? + What do You s'pose about that? + I s'pose they sing, + 'Cause they're so glad to come up here and see the sunshine.... + + Well, anyway I'd find out all about it, 'way down there, + And then I'd want to come up home, + And I'd have so much to tell to You! + + If I could dig holes like a rabbit, + That's just what I would do. + + ROSE STRONG HUBBELL + + +THE LITTLE GOD + + Mother says there's a little god + Lives in my garden. + I asked her--"In the tree?"-- + I asked her--"In the fountain?" + And she said, yes, that she, + Plain as plain could be, + Everywhere could see + The little god. + "What's he look like, mother?" + "Oh," she said, "like the flowers, + Like the summer showers, + Like the morning dew,-- + Like you." + She says he's everywhere + In my garden--I can't see him there. + + KATHARINE HOWARD + + +DAISIES + + At evening when I go to bed + I see the stars shine overhead; + They are the little daisies white + That dot the meadow of the Night. + + And often while I'm dreaming so, + Across the sky the Moon will go; + It is a lady, sweet and fair, + Who comes to gather daisies there. + + For, when at morning I arise, + There's not a star left in the skies; + She's picked them all and dropped them down + Into the meadows of the town. + + FRANK DEMPSTER SHERMAN + + +THE ANXIOUS FARMER + + It was awful long ago + That I put those seeds around; + And I guess I ought to know + When I stuck 'em in the ground. + 'Cause I noted down the day + In a little diary book,-- + It's gotten losted somewhere and + I don't know where to look. + + But I'm certain anyhow + They've been planted most a week + And it must be time by now + For their little sprouts to peek. + They've been watered every day + With a very speshul care, + And once or twice I've dug 'em up to + see if they were there. + + I fixed the dirt in humps + Just the way they said I should; + And I crumbled all the lumps + Just as finely as I could. + And I found a nangle-worm + A-poking up his head,-- + He maybe feeds on seeds and such, + and so I squushed him dead. + + A seed's so very small, + And dirt all looks the same;-- + How can they know at all + The way they ought to aim? + And so I'm waiting round + In case of any need; + A farmer ought to do his best for + every single seed! + + BURGES JOHNSON + + +OVER THE GARDEN WALL + + By the side of a wall in a garden gay, + A little Rose-bush grew; + In the first dear days of the month of May, + Loved by the sun and dew. + + It gazed to the top of the wall so high + With happy longing and pride, + When it heard the children laugh and cry + As they passed on the other side. + + And into its leaves and buds there came + A beautiful thought of God. + "I can climb to the heights of love and fame, + If my roots are in the sod." + + Then up and over the garden-wall, + It clambered far and wide, + Shedding its sweetness for one and all + As they passed on the other side,-- + + The weary laborer, the beggar cold, + The wise man and the fool, + The mother and daughter, the grandam old + And the children going to school. + + The breezes scattered its pink and white + In a perfumed shower for all, + And the beautiful days of June were bright + With the Rose on the Garden-wall. + + Our hearts are like the Roses of June, + They can live for one and all, + Giving their love as a blessed boon, + From a palace or cottage wall. + + EMILY SELINGER + + +THE FLOWERPHONE + + See the morning-glories hung + On the vine for me to use: + Hark! A flower-bell has rung, + I can talk now, if I choose. + + "Hellow Central! Oh, hello! + Give me Puck of Fairyland-- + Mr. Puck, I want to know + What I cannot understand. + + "How the leaves are scalloped out; + Where's the den of Dragon Fly? + What do crickets chirp about? + Where do flowers go when they die? + + "How far can a Fairy see? + Why are woodsy things afraid? + Who lives in the hollow tree? + How are cobweb carpets made? + + "Why do Fairies hide?--Hello! + What? I cannot understand--" + That's the way they always do, + They've cut me off from Fairyland! + + ABBIE FARWELL BROWN + + +THE FAITHLESS FLOWERS + + I went this morning down to where the Johnny-Jump-Ups grow + Like naughty purple faces nodding in a row. + I stayed 'most all the morning there--I sat down on a stump + And watched and watched and watched them--and they never gave a jump! + + And Golden-Glow that stands up tall and yellow by the fence, + It doesn't glow a single bit--it's only just pretence-- + I ran down after tea last night to watch them in the dark-- + I had to light a match to see; they didn't give a spark! + + And then the Bouncing Bets don't bounce--I tried them yesterday, + I picked a big pink bunch down in the meadow where they stay, + I took a piece of string I had and tied them in a ball, + And threw them down as hard as hard--they never bounced at all! + + And tiger-lilies may look fierce, to meet them all alone, + All tall and black and yellowy and nodding by a stone, + But they're no more like tigers than the dogwood's like a dog, + Or bulrushes are like a bull or toadwort like a frog! + + I like the flowers very much--they're pleasant as can be + For bunches on the table, and to pick and wear and see, + But still it doesn't seem quite fair--it does seem very queer-- + They don't do what they're named for--not at any time of year! + + MARGARET WIDDEMER + + +THE FLOWER-SCHOOL + +When storm clouds rumble in the sky and June showers come down, + +The moist east wind comes marching over the heath to blow its bagpipes +among the bamboos. + +Then crowds of flowers come out of a sudden, from nobody knows where, +and dance upon the grass in wild glee. + +Mother, I really think the flowers go to school underground. + +They do their lessons with doors shut, and if they want to come out to +play before it is time, their master makes them stand in a corner. + +When the rains come down they have their holidays. + +Branches clash together in the forest, and the leaves rustle in the wild +wind, the thunder-clouds clap their giant hands and the flower children +rush out in dresses of pink and yellow and white. + +Do you know, mother, their home is in the sky, where the stars are. + +Haven't you seen how eager they are to get there? Don't you know why +they are in such a hurry? + +Of course, I can guess to whom they raise their arms: they have their +mother as I have my own. + + RABINDRANATH TAGORE + + +IRIS FLOWERS + + My mother let me go with her, + (I had been good all day), + To see the iris flowers that bloom + In gardens far away. + + We walked and walked through hedges green, + Through rice-fields empty still, + To where we saw a garden gate + Beneath the farthest hill. + + She pointed out the rows of "flowers";-- + I saw no planted things, + But white and purple butterflies + Tied down with silken strings. + + They strained and fluttered in the breeze, + So eager to be free; + I begged the man to let them go, + But mother laughed at me. + + She said that they could never rise, + Like birds, to heaven so blue. + But even mothers do not know + Some things that children do. + + That night, the flowers untied themselves + And softly stole away, + To fly in sunshine round my dreams + Until the break of day. + + MARY MCNEIL FENOLLOSA + + +IF I WERE A FAIRY + + I'd love to sit on a clover-top + And sway, + And swing and shake, till the dew would drop + In spray; + To croon a song for the bumble-bee + To leave his golden honey with me, + And sway and swing, till the wind would stop + To play. + + I'd weave a hammock of spider-thread + Loose-hung, + Where grasses nodded above my head + And swung. + And all day long, while the hammock swayed + I'd twine and tangle the sun and shade, + Till the crickets' song, "It is time for bed!" + Was sung. + + Then wrapped in a wee gold sunset cloud + I'd lie, + While night winds sang to the stars that crowd + The sky. + And all night long, I would swing and sleep + While fireflies lighted their lamps to peep-- + "Oh, hush!" they'd whisper, if frogs sang loud-- + "Oh hush-a-by!" + + CHARLES BUXTON GOING + + +FRINGED GENTIANS + + Near where I live there is a lake + As blue as blue can be, winds make + It dance as they go blowing by. + I think it curtseys to the sky. + + It's just a lake of lovely flowers, + And my Mamma says they are ours; + But they are not like those we grow + To be our very own, you know. + + We have a splendid garden, there + Are lots of flowers everywhere; + Roses, and pinks, and four o'clocks, + And hollyhocks, and evening stocks. + + Mamma lets us pick them, but never + Must we pick any gentians--ever! + For if we carried them away + They'd die of homesickness that day. + + AMY LOWELL + + +THE SCISSORS-MAN + + As I was busy with my tools + That make my garden neat, + I heard a little crooked tune + Come drifting up the street. + + It didn't seem to have an end + Like others that are plain; + You always felt it going on + Till it began again. + + It came quite near: I heard it call, + And dropped my tools and ran + To peer out through the gate; + I thought it might be Pan. + + But it was just the scissors-man + Who walked along and played + Upon a little instrument + He told me he had made. + + Now, if you hope to see a god + As hard to find as Pan, + It's sad when it turns out to be + A plain old scissors-man. + + But when my mother came to hear + The crooked tune he made, + She said his instrument was like + Some pipes that Pan had played. + + And I must ask the scissors-man + If he had ever known + Or met a queer old god who played + On pipes much like his own. + + He would not tell: and when I asked + Who taught him how to play, + He made that crooked tune again, + And laughed and went away. + + GRACE HAZARD CONKLING + + + + + THE GARDEN OF LIFE + + +GOD'S GARDEN + + _The years are flowers and bloom within + Eternity's wide garden; + The rose for joy, the thorn for sin, + The gardener God, to pardon + All wilding growths, to prune, reclaim, + And make them rose-like in His name._ + + RICHARD BURTON + + +"THE LORD GOD PLANTED A GARDEN" + + The Lord God planted a garden + In the first white days of the world, + And He set there an angel warden + In a garment of light enfurled. + + So near to the peace of Heaven, + That the hawk might nest with the wren, + For there in the cool of the even + God walked with the first of men. + + And I dream that these garden-closes + With their shade and their sun-flecked sod + And their lilies and bowers of roses, + Were laid by the hand of God. + + The kiss of the sun for pardon, + The song of the birds for mirth,-- + One is nearer God's heart in a garden + Than anywhere else on earth. + + DOROTHY FRANCES GURNEY + + +THE LILIES + + Ever the garden has a spiritual word: + In the slow lapses of unnoticed time + It drops from heaven, or upward learns to climb, + Breathing an earthly sweetness, as a bird + Is in the porches of the morning heard; + So, in the garden, flower to flower will chime, + And with the music thought and feeling rhyme, + And the hushed soul is with new glory stirred. + + Beauty is silent,--through the summer day + Sleeps in her gold,--O wondrous sunlit gold, + Frosting the lilies, virginal array! + Green, full-leaved walls the fragrant sculpture hold, + Warm, orient blooms!--how motionless are they-- + Speechless--the eternal loveliness untold! + + GEORGE E. WOODBERRY + + +BARTER + + Life has loveliness to sell, + All beautiful and splendid things, + Blue waves whitened on a cliff, + Soaring fire that sways and sings, + And children's faces looking up + Holding wonder like a cup. + + Life has loveliness to sell, + Music like a curve of gold, + Scent of pine trees in the rain, + Eyes that love you, arms that hold, + And for your spirit's still delight, + Holy thoughts that star the night. + + Spend all you have for loveliness, + Buy it and never count the cost; + For one white singing hour of peace + Count many a year of strife well lost, + And for a breath of ecstasy + Give all you have been, or could be. + + SARA TEASDALE + + +SONNET + + Drop me the seed, that I, even in my brain, + May be its nourishing earth. No mortal knows + From what immortal granary comes the grain, + Nor how the earth conspires to make the rose; + + But from the dust and from the wetted mud + Comes help, given or taken; so with me + Deep in my brain the essence of my blood + Shall give it stature until Beauty be. + + It will look down, even as the burning flower + Smiles upon June, long after I am gone. + Dust-footed Time will never tell its hour, + Through dusty Time its rose will draw men on, + + Through dusty Time its beauty shall make plain + Man, and, Without, a spirit scattering grain. + + JOHN MASEFIELD + + +THE TILLING + + The dull ox, Sorrow, treads my heart, + Dragging the harrow, Pain, + And turning the old year's tillage + Under the sod again. + So, well do I know the Tiller + Will bring once more the grain; + For grief comes never to the strong-- + Nor dull despair's benumbing wrong-- + But from them spring a hidden throng + Of seeds, for new life fain. + + So heavily do I let the hoofs + Trample the deeps of me; + For only thus is spirit + Brought to fecundity. + But when the ox is stabled + And the harrow set aside, + With calm I watch a new world grow, + Sweetly green, up out of woe, + And, glad of the Tiller, then I know + He too is satisfied. + + CALE YOUNG RICE + + +SAFE + + Now shall your beauty never fade; + For it was budding when you passed + Beyond this glare, into the shade + Of fairer gardens unforecast, + Where, by the dreaded Gardener's spade, + Beauty, transplanted once, shall ever last. + + Now never shall that glorious breast + Wither, those deft hands lose their art, + Nor those glad shoulders be oppressed + By failing breath or fluttering heart, + Nor, from the cheek by dawn possessed, + The subtle ecstasy of hue depart. + + Forever shall you be your best,-- + Nay, far more luminously shine + Than when our comradeship was blessed + By what on earth seemed most divine, + Before your body passed to rest + With what I then supposed this heart of mine. + + Now shall your bud of beauty blow + Far lovelier than I knew before + When, such a little time ago, + I looked upon your face, and swore + That Helen's never moved men so + When her white, magic hands enkindled war. + + As you sweep on from power to power + Shall every earthward thought you think + Irradiate my lonely hour + Till I shall taste the golden drink + Of Life, and see the full-blown flower, + Whose opening bud was mine, beyond the brink. + + ROBERT HAVEN SCHAUFFLER + + +SORROW IN A GARDEN + + Here in this ancient garden + When Winter days had flown + I came, with Comrade Sorrow + To dwell with her alone. + + Here in this sweet seclusion + Far from the World's cold stare + What exquisite communings + Sorrow and I would share! + + What banquets of remembrance! + What luxury of tears! + With Sorrow in a garden + Through the rose-scented years! + + But one day when she called me + I did not hear her voice; + I only heard the lilies + Which sang "Rejoice, rejoice!" + + The world was gold and azure + The air was sweet with birds; + My garden laughed with rapture + How could I hear her words? + + For June was in the garden + And June was in my heart, + And since that hour pale Sorrow + And I have dwelt apart. + + But often in the twilight + When birds and gardens sleep + I feel her presence with me + Her arms about me creep. + + And when the ghosts of Summer + With the dead roses talk, + I hear her softly sobbing + Along the moonlit walk. + + I never can forget her + So intimate were we! + But Sorrow, in my garden + Abides no more with me. + + MAY RILEY SMITH + + +MOTH-FLOWERS + + The pale moth + Trembles in the white moonlight; + Thus my heart trembles with love! + + The rose petals fall-- + The red petals of my heart; + Oh, the breath of love! + + Cool, sweet tears + Of honey, the jasmine weeps; + Burning fall the tears of love. + + Oh, how bitter + Is the White Poppy, Death; + There are no more dreams of love. + + JEANNE ROBERT FOSTER + + +ALCHEMY + + I lift my heart as spring lifts up + A yellow daisy to the rain; + My heart will be a lovely cup + Altho' it holds but pain. + + For I shall learn from flower and leaf + That color every drop they hold, + To change the lifeless wine of grief + To living gold. + + SARA TEASDALE + + +FLOWERS IN THE DARK + + Late in the evening, when the room had grown + Too hot and tiresome with its flaring light + And noisy voices, I stole out alone + Into the darkness of the summer night. + + Down the long garden-walk I slowly went, + A little wind was stirring in the trees; + I only saw the whitest of the flowers, + And I was sorry that the earlier hours + Of that fair evening had been so ill spent, + Because I said, "I am content with these + Dear friends of mine who only speak to me + With their delicious fragrance, and who tell + To me their gracious welcome silently." + + The leaves that touch my hand with dew are wet; + I find the tall white lilies I love well. + I linger as I pass the mignonette, + And what surprise could clearer be than this: + To find my sweet rose waiting with a kiss! + + SARAH ORNE JEWETT + + +WELCOME + + There is a hillside garden that their tender hands have tended, + Below a house that holds for me a shrine of joy and light. + And there beneath a cloudless sun when June is warm and splendid + I see them coming home to me, three girls in garments white. + + Alice with lilies in her hands, and little dark Dolores + Showing her glowing marigolds; and Iris last of all + Under the arbor by the wall of purple morning-glories, + Bringing my crimson ramblers back that sought to scale the wall. + + Alice with smiles along her lips; Dolores still and tender; + Iris whose eyes can tell me more than tongue shall ever say; + They offer to my open arms their bodies soft and slender, + Bringing the best of summer here, they garlanded to-day. + + Into my study they have swept, and brasses from Benares, + Vases from Venice they have filled, and hung their wreaths around + The portrait where their mother smiles like the tall tranquil Maries + That Perugino used to paint, with hair like sunlight crowned. + + "Mother is coming home to-day." (The words themselves are singing.) + "How long it is," our litany, forgotten, they repeat, + Making their last response to love, their last oblation bringing + Till at the hour of evensong, their voices still more sweet, + Tremble and sanctify the house where happy hearts shall meet. + + JOHN CURTIS UNDERWOOD + + +THE CHILD IN THE GARDEN + + When to the garden of untroubled thought + I came of late, and saw the open door, + And wished again to enter, and explore + The sweet, wild ways with stainless bloom inwrought + And bowers of innocence with beauty fraught, + It seemed some purer voice must speak before + I dared to tread that garden loved of yore, + That Eden lost unknown and found unsought. + + Then just within the gate I saw a child,-- + A stranger-child, yet to my heart most dear; + He held his hands to me, and softly smiled + With eyes that knew no shade of sin or fear: + "Come in," he said, "and play awhile with me; + I am the little child you used to be." + + HENRY VAN DYKE + + +A WONDER GARDEN + + "And a little child shall lead them" + Into her world, beneath her smiling skies; + A little child with wide, wondering eyes + Deep with the mystery that in them lies. + Her soft hand plucks a stem asunder, + And with the dream that is a part + Of Childhood's heart, + She questions: + "Now I want to wonder!" + + She "wants to wonder" how so fair a thing + Is born; from what it springs, and why it blooms: + Whence comes its sweet, elusive odor rare,-- + The garnered fragrance of a hundred Junes. + Was it all planned,--or just some lovely blunder? + Thus gazing, with the seeking look that lies + In Childhood's eyes, + She questions: + "Now I want to wonder!" + + Dear Child, your groping mind seeks far and true: + Mankind and Nature,--all "want to wonder" too. + + FREDERIC A. WHITING + + +FROM A CAR-WINDOW + + Pines, and a blur of lithe young grasses; + Gold in a pool, from the western glow; + Spread of wings where the last thrush passes-- + And thoughts of you as the sun dips low. + + Quiet lane, and an irised meadow ... + (_How many summers have died since then?_) ... + I wish you knew how the deepening shadow + Lies on the blue and green again! + + Dusk, and the curve of field and hollow + Etched in gray when a star appears: + Sunset,... twilight,... and dark to follow,... + And thoughts of you thro' a mist of tears. + + RUTH GUTHRIE HARDING + + +SONG OF THE WEARY TRAVELLER + + I am weary. I would rest + On the wide earth's swelling breast, + Nurtured by the quiet sod + Where the fragrant dew has trod, + Soothed by all the winds that pass, + Hearing voices in the grass + Of the little insect things + Happier than the mightiest kings! + + I am weary. I would sleep + In some quiet perfumed deep + Where no human touch could bring + Tears to me or anything. + There I would forget to weep + And my silent cloister keep,-- + There I would the earth embrace + Meeting Beauty face to face. + + I am weary. I would go + Where the fields are white with snow, + Where the violets are lain + Far from human strife and pain-- + Far from longing and delight, + Thro' the endless starry night, + There I would forget to weep, + And my silent cloister keep. + + BLANCHE SHOEMAKER WAGSTAFF + + +COBWEBS + + Who would not praise thee, miracle of Frost? + Some gesture overnight, some breath benign, + And lo! the tree's a fountain all a-shine, + The hedge a throne of unimagined cost; + In wheel and fan along a wall embossed, + The spider's humble handiwork shows fine + With jewels girdling every airy line; + Though the small mason in the cold be lost. + + Web after web, a morning snare of bliss + Starring with beauty the whole neighbourhood, + May well beget an envy clean and good. + When man goes too into the earth-abyss, + And God in His altered garden walks, I would + My secret woof might gleam so fair as this. + + LOUISE IMOGEN GUINEY + + +BLIND + + The Spring blew trumpets of color; + Her Green sang in my brain-- + I heard a blind man groping + "Tap--tap" with his cane; + + I pitied him his blindness; + But can I boast, "I see?" + Perhaps there walks a spirit + Close by, who pities me,-- + + A spirit who hears me tapping + The five-sensed cane of mind + Amid such unguessed glories-- + That I--am worse than blind! + + HARRY KEMP + + +HERB OF GRACE + + I do not know what sings in me-- + I only know it sings + When pale the stars, and every tree + Is glad with waking wings. + + I only know the air is sweet + With wondrous flowers unseen-- + That unaccountably complete + Is June's accustomed green. + + The wind has magic in its touch; + Strange dreams the sunsets give. + Life I have questioned overmuch-- + To-day, I live. + + AMELIA JOSEPHINE BURR + + +BEFORE MARY OF MAGDALA CAME + + Now in the place where he was crucified there was a garden; + and in the garden a new sepulchre.... The first day of the + week cometh Mary Magdalene early ... unto the sepulchre.... + And ... she turned herself back, and saw Jesus standing.... + Jesus saith unto her, Mary. She turned herself, and saith + unto him ... Master. St. John. + + From silvering mid-sea to the Syrian sand, + It was the time of blossom in the land. + On field and hill and down the steep ravine, + Ran foam and fire of bloom and ripple of green. + The Sepulchre was open wide, and thrown + Among the crushed, hurt lilies lay the Stone. + A light wind stirred the Garden: everywhere + The smell of myrrh was out upon the air. + For three days He had traveled with the dead, + And now was risen to go with stiller tread + The old earth ways again, + To stay the heart and build the hope of men. + He made a luster in that leafy place, + His form serene, majestical; His face + Touched with a cryptic beauty like the sea + Lit by the moon when night begins to be. + + The cold gray east was warming into rose + Beyond the steep ravine where Kedron goes. + Now suddenly on the morning faint with flame + Jerusalem with all her clamors came-- + A snarl of noises from the far-off street, + Dispute and barter and the clack of feet. + A moment it brawled upward and was gone-- + Faded, forgotten in the deep still dawn. + He passed across the morning: felt the cool, + Keen, kindling air blown upward from the pool. + A busy wind brought little tender smells + From barley fields and weeds by April wells. + Up in the tree-tops where the breezes ran + The old sweet noises in the nests began; + And once He paused to listen while a bird + Shouted the joy till all the Garden heard. + + There in the morning, on the old worn ways-- + New-risen from the sacrament of death-- + He looked toward Olivet with tender gaze: + Old things of the heart came back from other days-- + The happy, homely shop in Nazareth; + The noonday shadow of a wayside tree + That had befriended Him in Galilee; + Sweet talks in Bethany by the chimney stone, + And night-long lingering talks with John alone. + And then He thought of all the weary men + He would have gathered as a mother hen + Gathers her brood under her wings at night. + And then He saw the ages in one flight, + And heard as a great sea + All of the griefs that had been and must be.... + + As He stood looking on the endless sky, + Over the Garden went a sobbing cry. + He turned, and saw where the tall almonds are + His Mary of Magdala, wildly pale, + Fast-fleeting down the trail, + And suddenly His face was like a star! + He spoke; she knew--a blaze of happy tears; + Then "Master!" ... and the word rings down the years! + + EDWIN MARKHAM + + +CONSCIENCE + + Wisdom am I + When thou art but a fool; + My part the man, + When thou hast played the clod; + Hast lost thy garden? + When the eve is cool, + Harken!--'tis I who walk + There with thy God! + + MARGARET STEELE ANDERSON + + +ROSA MYSTICA + + This rose so exquisite, + So perfect, so complete, + Beauty beyond all price,-- + With the hour it dies. + + God makes Him roses fast, + With such magnificent haste, + Multitudes, multitudes, + In gardens, fields and woods. + + The roses tell His praise + Their little length of days; + Testify to His name, + Gold on gold, flame on flame. + + They are scarce here, scarce blown, + But they are gone, are flown; + The gardener's broom must sweep them + And in the darkness heap them. + + Drift of rose-leaves upon + The garden-bed, the lawn: + The exquisite thought of God + Is scattered, wasted abroad. + + What of the soul of the rose? + It shall not die with those; + It shall wake, shall live again + In God's rose-garden. + + It shall climb rose-trellises + Before God's palaces; + The Eternal Rose shall cover + The House of God all over. + + She shall breathe out her soul + And yet living, made whole, + Shall offer her oblation + Out of her purest passion. + + She shall know all bliss + Where God's garden is: + The rose drinking her fill is + Of joy with her sister lilies. + + Where the Water of Life sweet + Bathes her from head to feet, + The River of Life flows-- + There is the Rose. + + KATHARINE TYNAN + + +THE MYSTERY + + He came and took me by the hand + Up to a red rose tree, + He kept His meaning to Himself + But gave a rose to me. + + I did not pray Him to lay bare + The mystery to me, + Enough the rose was Heaven to smell + And His own face to see. + + RALPH HODGSON + + +THE ROSE + + And so must life be many-veined; + The loves that hurt, the fate that blent + My life with myriad lives and ways, + The processes that probed and pained, + The pencillings of nights and days-- + Cross currents, tangling as they went, + With oh, such conflict in my soul!-- + How should I know that they were meant + Just to make living sweet and whole, + Just to unclose + God's perfect rose? + + ANGELA MORGAN + + +FOR THESE + + An acre of land between the shore and the hills, + Upon a ledge that shows my Kingdoms three, + The lovely visible earth and sky and sea, + Where what the curlew needs not, the farmer tills: + + A house that shall love me as I love it, + Well-hedged, and honoured by a few ash trees + That linnets, greenfinches, and goldfinches + Shall often visit and make love in and flit; + + A garden I need never go beyond, + Broken but neat, whose sunflowers every one + Are fit to be the sign of the Rising Sun: + A spring, a brook's bend, or at least a pond! + + For these I ask not, but neither too late + Nor yet too early, for what men call content,-- + And also that something may be sent + To be contented with, I ask of fate. + + EDWARD THOMAS (EDWARD EASTAWAY) + + +SAMUEL GARDNER + + I who kept the greenhouse, + Lover of trees and flowers, + Oft in life saw this umbrageous elm, + Measuring its generous branches with my eye, + And listened to its rejoicing leaves + Lovingly patting each other + With sweet æolian whispers. + And well they might: + For the roots had grown so wide and deep + That the soil of the hill could not withhold + Aught of its virtue, enriched by rain, + And warmed by the sun; + But yielded it all to the thrifty roots, + Through which it was drawn and whirled to the trunk, + And thence to the branches, and into the leaves, + Wherefrom the breeze took life and sang. + Now I, an under-tenant of the earth, can see + That the branches of a tree + Spread no wider than its roots. + And how shall the soul of a man + Be larger than the life he has lived? + + EDGAR LEE MASTERS + + +SEEDS + + What shall we be like when + We cast this earthly body and attain + To immortality? + What shall we be like then? + + Ah, who shall say + What vast expansions shall be ours that day? + What transformations of this house of clay, + To fit the heavenly mansions and the light of day? + Ah, who shall say? + + But this we know,-- + We drop a seed into the ground, + A tiny, shapeless thing, shrivelled and dry, + And, in the fulness of its time, is seen + A form of peerless beauty, robed and crowned + Beyond the pride of any earthly queen, + Instinct with loveliness, and sweet and rare, + The perfect emblem of its Maker's care. + + This from a shrivelled seed?-- + --Then may man hope indeed! + + For man is but the seed of what he shall be, + When, in the fulness of his perfecting, + He drops the husk and cleaves his upward way, + Through earth's retardings and the clinging clay, + Into the sunshine of God's perfect day. + No fetters then! No bonds of time or space! + But powers as ample as the boundless grace + That suffered man, and death, and yet, in tenderness, + Set wide the door, and passed Himself before-- + As He had promised--to prepare a place. + + Yea, we may hope! + For we are seeds, + Dropped into earth for heavenly blossoming. + Perchance, when comes the time of harvesting, + His loving care + May find some use for even a humble tare. + + We know not what we shall be--only this-- + That we shall be made like Him--as He is. + + JOHN OXENHAM + + +"LORD, I ASK A GARDEN" + + Lord, I ask a garden in a quiet spot + where there may be a brook with a good flow, + an humble little house covered with bell-flowers + and a wife and a son who shall resemble Thee. + + I should wish to live many years, free from hates, + and make my verses, as the rivers + that moisten the earth, fresh and pure. + Lord, give me a path with trees and birds. + + I wish that you would never take my mother, + for I should wish to tend her as a child + and put her to sleep with kisses, when somewhat old + she may need the sun. + + R. AREVALO MARTINEZ + + +MY FLOWER-ROOM + + My flower-room is such a little place, + Scarce twenty feet by nine, yet in that space + I have met God; yea, many a radiant hour + Have talked with Him, the All-Embracing Cause, + About His laws. + And he has shown me, in each vine and flower, + Such miracles of power + That day by day this flower-room of mine + Has come to be a shrine. + + Fed by the self-same soil and atmosphere, + Pale, tender shoots appear, + Rising to greet the light in that sweet room. + One speeds to crimson bloom, + One slowly creeps to unassuming grace, + One climbs, one trails, + One drinks the light and moisture, + One exhales. + Up through the earth together, stem by stem, + Two plants push swiftly in a floral race, + Till one sends forth a blossom like a gem, + And one gives only fragrance. + In a seed, + So small it scarce is felt within the hand, + Lie hidden such delights + Of scents and sights, + When by the elements of Nature freed, + As paradise must have at its command. + + From shapeless roots and ugly bulbous things, + What gorgeous beauty springs! + Such infinite variety appears, + A hundred artists in a hundred years + Could never copy from a floral world + The marvels that in leaf and bud lie curled. + Nor could the most colossal mind of man + Create one little seed of plant or vine + Without assistance from the First Great Plan, + Without the aid divine. + + Who but a God + Could draw from light and moisture, heat and cold, + And fashion in earth's mold, + A multitude of blooms to deck one sod? + Who but a God? + Not one man knows + Just why the bloom and fragrance of the rose, + Or how its tints were blent; + Or why the white camellia, without scent, + Up through the same soil grows; + Or how the daisy and the violet + And blades of grass first on wild meadows met. + Not one, not one man knows, + The wisest but suppose. + This flower-room of mine + Has come to be a shrine, + And I go hence + Each day with larger faith and reverence. + + ELLA WHEELER WILCOX + + +"VESTURED AND VEILED WITH TWILIGHT" + + Vestured and veiled with twilight, + Lulled in the winter's ease, + Dim, and happy, and silent, + My garden dreams by its trees. + + Urn of the sprayless fountain, + Glimmering nymph and faun, + Gleam through the dark-plumed cedar, + Fade on the dusky lawn. + + Here is no stir of summer, + Here is no pulse of spring; + Never a bud to burgeon, + Never a bird to sing. + + Dreams--and the kingdom of quiet! + Only the dead leaves lie + Over the fallen roses + Under the shrouded sky. + + Folded and fenced with silence + Mindless of moil and mart, + It is twilight here in my garden, + And twilight here in my heart. + + ROSAMUND MARRIOTT WATSON + + +THE FRUIT GARDEN PATH + + The path runs straight between the flowering rows, + A moonlit path hemmed in by beds of bloom, + Where phlox and marigolds dispute for room + With tall, red dahlias and the briar rose. + 'Tis reckless prodigality which throws + Into the night these wafts of rich perfume + Which sweep across the garden like a plume. + Over the trees a single bright star glows. + Dear garden of my childhood, here my years + Have run away like little grains of sand; + The moments of my life, its hopes and fears + Have all found utterance here, where now I stand; + My eyes ache with the weight of unshed tears, + You are my home, do you not understand? + + AMY LOWELL + + +WOOD SONG + + I heard a woodthrush in the dusk + Twirl three notes and make a star-- + My heart that walked with bitterness + Came back from very far. + + Three shining notes were all he had, + And yet they made a starry call-- + I caught life back against my breast + And kissed it, scars and all. + + SARA TEASDALE + + +A PRAYER + + Teach me, Father, how to go + Softly as the grasses grow; + Hush my soul to meet the shock + Of the wild world as a rock; + But my spirit, propt with power, + Make as simple as a flower. + Let the dry heart fill its cup, + Like a poppy looking up; + Let life lightly wear her crown, + Like a poppy looking down, + When its heart is filled with dew + And its life begins anew. + + Teach me, Father, how to be + Kind and patient as a tree. + Joyfully the crickets croon + Under shady oak at noon; + Beetle, on his mission bent, + Tarries in that cooling tent. + Let me, also, cheer a spot, + Hidden field or garden grot-- + Place where passing souls can rest + On the way and be their best. + + EDWIN MARKHAM + + +THE PHILOSOPHER'S GARDEN + + "_See this my garden, + Large and fair!_" + --Thus, to his friend, + The Philosopher. + + "_'Tis not too long_," + His friend replied, + With truth exact,-- + "_Nor yet too wide. + But well compact, + If somewhat cramped + On every side._" + + Quick the reply-- + "_But see how high!-- + It reaches up + To God's blue sky!_" + + JOHN OXENHAM + + + + +INDEX OF TITLES + + + Ære Perennius, _Charles Hanson Towne_, 139. + + Afternoon on a Hill, _Edna St. Vincent Millay_, 115. + + Alchemy, _Sara Teasdale_, 262. + + Amiel's Garden, _Gertrude Huntington McGiffert_, 211. + + Anxious Farmer, The, _Burges Johnson_, 242. + + April Morning, An, _Bliss Carman_, 23. + + April Rain, _Conrad Aiken_, 25. + + April Weather, _Lizette Woodworth Reese_, 27. + + Arbutus, _Adelaide Crapsey_, 111. + + As in a Rose-Jar, _Thomas S. Jones, Jr._, 168. + + Asking for Roses, _Robert Frost_, 92. + + At Isola Bella, _Jessie B. Rittenhouse_, 198. + + Autumn Rose, The, _Antoinette De Coursey Patterson_, 52. + + Autumnal, _Richard Middleton_, 186. + + Awakening, The, _Angela Morgan_, 149. + + + Baby Seed Song, _E. Nesbit_, 234. + + Baby's Valentine, _Laura E. Richards_, 232. + + Ballade of the Dreamland Rose, _Brian Hooker_, 181. + + Barter, _Sara Teasdale_, 256. + + Before Mary of Magdala came, _Edwin Markham_, 270. + + Beyond, _Thomas S. Jones, Jr._, 36. + + Birth of the Flowers, The, _Mary McNeil Fenollosa_, 18. + + Blind, _Harry Kemp_, 269. + + Blooming of the Rose, The, _Anna Hempstead Branch_, 179. + + Blossomy Barrow, The, _T. A. Daly_, 40. + + Boulders, _Charles Wharton Stork_, 114. + + Breath of Mint, A, _Grace Hazard Conkling_, 217. + + But we did walk in Eden, _Josephine Preston Peabody_, 125. + + Butterfly, The, _Edwin Markham_, 76. + + + Cactus, The, _Laurence Hope_, 195. + + Cardinal-Bird, The, _Arthur Guiterman_, 66. + + Champa Flower, The, _Rabindranath Tagore_, 200. + + Charm: To be said in the Sun, _Josephine Preston Peabody_, 11. + + Child in the Garden, The, _Henry van Dyke_, 265. + + Choice, The, _Katharine Tynan_, 223. + + Cloister Garden at Certosa, The, _Richard Burton_, 208. + + Cloud and Flower, _Agnes Lee_, 124. + + Clover, _John B. Tabb_, 105. + + Cobwebs, _Louise Imogen Guiney_, 268. + + Colonial Garden, A, _James B. Kenyan_, 86. + + Color Notes, _Charles Wharton Stork_, 50. + + Columbines, _Arthur Guiterman_, 39. + + Como in April, _Robert Underwood Johnson_, 207. + + Conscience, _Margaret Steele Anderson_, 273. + + Cricket in the Path, The, _Amelia Josephine Burr_, 73. + + Crocus Flame, The, _Clinton Scollard_, 28. + + + Da Thief, _T. A. Daly_, 143. + + Daffodils, _Ruth Guthrie Harding_, 28. + + Daisies, _Frank Dempster Sherman_, 241. + + Daisy, To a, _Alice Meynell_, 109. + + Dandelion, The, _Vachel Lindsay_, 107. + + Dawn in my Garden, _Marguerite Wilkinson_, 221. + + Deserted Garden, The, _Pai Ta-Shun_, 204. + + Dews, The, _John B. Tabb_, 9. + + Dials, The, _Arthur Wallace Peach_, 12. + + "Draw closer, O ye trees," _Lloyd Mifflin_, 159. + + Dream, A, _Antoinette De Coursey Patterson_, 129. + + Dusty Hour-Glass, The, _Amy Lowell_, 176. + + + Early Gods, The, _Witter Bynner_, 30. + + Earth, _John Hall Wheelock_, 2. + + Eden-Hunger, _William Watson_, 212. + + Egyptian Garden, In an, _Clinton Scollard_, 201. + + End of Summer, The, _Edna St. Vincent Millay_, 49. + + Evening in Old Japan, _Antoinette De Coursey Patterson_, 202. + + Ever the Same, _Josephine Preston Peabody_, 140. + + Exile's Garden, An, _Sophie Jewett_, 207. + + + Faithless Flowers, The, _Margaret Widdemer_, 245. + + Family Trees, _Douglas Malloch_, 156. + + Fireflies, _Antoinette De Coursey Patterson_, 72. + + Flower-School, The, _Rabindranath Tagore_, 246. + + Flowerphone, The, _Abbie Farwell Brown_, 244. + + Flowers in the Dark, _Sarah Orne Jewett_, 263. + + Flowers of June, The, _James Terry White_, 183. + + For These, _Edward Thomas_, 276. + + Fountain, The, _Harry Kemp_, 14. + + Fountain, The, _Sara Teasdale_, 199. + + Four O'Clocks, _Julia C. R. Dorr_, 91. + + Fringed Gentians, _Amy Lowell_, 250. + + From a Car-Window, _Ruth Guthrie Harding_, 267. + + "Frost to-night," _Edith M. Thomas_, 54. + + Fruit Garden Path, The, _Amy Lowell_, 283. + + Furrow, The, _Padraic Colum_, 3. + + + Garden, The, _Gertrude Huntington McGiffert_, 80. + + Garden, The, _Alice Meynell_, 123. + + Garden at Bemerton, The, _Lizette Woodworth Reese_, 212. + + Garden Friend, A, _Catherine Markham_, 152. + + Garden in August, The, _Gertrude Huntington McGiffert_, 46. + + Garden in Venice, A, _Dorothy Frances Gurney_, 209. + + Garden of Dreams, The, _Bliss Carman_, 169. + + Garden of Mnemosyne, The, _Rosamund Marriott Watson_, 181. + + Garden-Piece, A, _Edmund Gosse_, 126. + + Garden Prayer, A, _Thomas Walsh_, 194. + + "Go down to Kew in lilac-time," _Alfred Noyes_, 35. + + God's Garden, _Richard Burton_, 254. + + Golden Bowl, The, _Mary McMillan_, 51. + + Golden-Rod, The, _Margaret Deland_, 116. + + Goldfinch, The, _Odell Shepard_, 63. + + Grace for Gardens, _Louise Driscoll_, 226. + + "Grandmother's gathering boneset," _Edith M. Thomas_, 216. + + Green o' the Spring, The, _Denis A. McCarthy_, 22. + + + Haunted Garden, A, _Louis Untermeyer_, 174. + + Heart's Garden, _Norreys Jephson O'Conor_, 133. + + Her Garden, _Eldredge Denison_, 189. + + Her Garden, _Louis Dodge_, 139. + + Herb of Grace, _Amelia Josephine Burr_, 270. + + Homesick, _Julia C. R. Dorr_, 170. + + "How many flowers are gently met," _George Sterling_, 127. + + Hummingbird, The, _Hermann Hagedorn_, 61. + + + "I meant to do my work to-day," _Richard Le Gallienne_, 60. + + Idealists, _Alfred Kreymborg_, 158. + + If I could dig like a Rabbit, _Rose Strong Hubbell_, 239. + + If I were a Fairy, _Charles Buxton Going_, 249. + + In a Garden, _Livingston L. Biddle_, 131. + + In a Garden, _Horace Holley_, 7. + + In a Garden of Granada, _Thomas Walsh_, 210. + + In an Egyptian Garden, _Clinton Scollard_, 201. + + In an Old Garden, _Madison Cawein_, 169. + + In an Oxford Garden, _Arthur Upson_, 213. + + In Memory's Garden, _Thomas Walsh_, 183. + + In my Mother's Garden, _Margaret Widdemer_, 87. + + In the Garden, _Pai Ta-Shun_, 204. + + In the Garden-Close at Mezra, _Clinton Scollard_, 195. + + In the Womb, _A. E._, 4. + + Indian Summer, _Sara Teasdale_, 53. + + Iris Flowers, _Mary McNeil Fenollosa_, 247. + + "It was June in the garden," _Emile Verhaeren_, 136. + + + Jewel-Weed, _Florence Earle Coates_, 111. + + Joe-Pyeweed, _Louis Untermeyer_, 108. + + Joy of the Springtime, The, _Sarojini Naidu_, 20. + + Joys of a Summer Morning, The, _Henry A. Wise Wood_, 101. + + July Garden, The, _Robert Ernest Vernède_, 43. + + July Midnight, _Amy Lowell_, 72. + + June, _Douglas Malloch_, 36. + + June Rapture, _Angela Morgan_, 37. + + + Kinfolk, _Kate Whiting Patch_, 65. + + + Lady of the Snows, A, _Harriet Monroe_, 153. + + Larkspur, _James Oppenheim_, 42. + + Late Walk, A, _Robert Frost_, 50. + + Lavender, _W. W. Blair Fish_, 219. + + Lilies, The, _George E. Woodberry_, 255. + + Little Ghost, The, _Edna St. Vincent Millay_, 190. + + Little Girl's Songs, A, _Hilda Conkling_, 236. + + Little God, The, _Katharine Howard_, 240. + + "Lord, I ask a Garden," _R. Arevalo Martinez_, 279. + + Love planted a Rose, _Katharine Lee Bates_, 123. + + "Loveliest of trees," _A. E. Housman_, 155. + + + Magnolia, The, _José Santos Chocano_, 34. + + May is building her House, _Richard Le Gallienne_, 33. + + Message, The, _Helen Hay Whitney_, 141. + + Message, The, _George Edward Woodberry_, 120. + + Messenger, The, _James Stephens_, 71. + + "Mid-summer blooms within our quiet garden-ways," _Emile Verhaeren_, + 44. + + Midsummer Garden, A, _Clinton Scollard_, 172. + + Miracle, _L. H. Bailey_, 148. + + Mocking-Bird, A, _Witter Bynner_, 65. + + Mocking-Bird, The, _Frank L. Stanton_, 69. + + Morning-Glory, The, _Florence Earle Coates_, 40. + + Moth-Flowers, _Jeanne Robert Foster_, 262. + + My Flower-Room, _Ella Wheeler Wilcox_, 280. + + "My soul is like a garden-close," _Thomas S. Jones, Jr._, 128. + + Mystery, _Ralph Hodgson_, 275. + + + New Sundial, To a, _Violet Fane_, 13. + + Night-Moth, The, _Marion Couthouy Smith_, 75. + + Nightingales, _Grace Hazard Conkling_, 63. + + November Night, _Adeline Crapsey_, 55. + + + "Oh, tell me how my garden grows," _Mildred Howells_, 188. + + Old Brocade, The, _M. G. Brereton_, 93. + + Old Gardens, _Arthur Upson_, 179. + + Old Homes, _Madison Cawein_, 81. + + Old Mothers, _Charles Ross_, 95. + + Old-fashioned Garden, The, _John Russell Hayes_, 83. + + Order, _Paul Scott Mowrer_, 75. + + Over the Garden Wall, _Emily Selinger_, 243. + + Oxford Garden, In an, _Arthur Upson_, 213. + + + Pasture, The, _Robert Frost_, 104. + + Path that leads to Nowhere, The, _Corinne Roosevelt Robinson_, 117. + + Philosopher's Garden, The, _John Oxenham_, 285. + + Planting, _Robert Livingston_, 230. + + Poplars, The, _Theodosia Garrison_, 164. + + Poppies, _John Russell Hayes_, 45. + + Prayer, _John Hall Wheelock_, 130. + + Prayer, A, _Edwin Markham_, 284. + + Primavera, _George Cabot Lodge_, 21. + + Progress, _Charlotte Becker_, 125. + + Proud Vegetables, The, _Mary McNeil Fenollosa_, 221. + + Puritan Lady's Garden, A, _Sarah N. Cleghorn_, 82. + + Putting in the Seed, _Robert Frost_, 5. + + + Rain, The, _William H. Davies_, 9. + + Rain in the Night, _Amelia Josephine Burr_, 235. + + Reflections, _Amy Lowell_, 203. + + Rest at Noon, _Hermann Hagedorn_, 74. + + Results and Roses, _Edgar A. Guest_, 145. + + Road to the Pool, The, _Grace Hazard Conkling_, 99. + + Roman Garden, A, _Florence Wilkinson Evans_, 205. + + Rosa Mystica, _Katharine Tynan_, 273. + + Rose, The, _Grace Hazard Conkling_, 130. + + Rose, The, _Angela Morgan_, 275. + + Rose-Geranium, _Clement Wood_, 90. + + Rose Lover, A, _Frederic A. Whiting_, 134. + + Roses, _Wilfrid Wilson Gibson_, 138. + + Roses in the Subway, _Dana Burnet_, 191. + + + Safe, _Robert Haven Schauffler_, 259. + + Samuel Gardner, _Edgar Lee Masters_, 277. + + Scissors-Man, The, _Grace Hazard Conkling_, 250. + + Secret, The, _Arthur Wallace Peach_, 77. + + Seeds, _John Oxenham_, 278. + + Selection from "Under the Trees," _Anna Hempstead Branch_, 151. + + Seller of Herbs, A, _Lizette Woodworth Reese_, 218. + + Serenade, _Marjorie L. C. Pickthall_, 184. + + Shade, _Theodosia Garrison_, 150. + + Shower, A, _Rowland Thirlmere_, 8. + + Snow-Gardens, The, _Zoë Akins_, 55. + + Soft Day, A, _W. M. Letts_, 110. + + Song for Winter, A, _Mrs. Schuyler Van Rensselaer_, 57. + + Song from "April," _Irene Rutherford McLeod_, 98. + + Song in a Garden, A, _Theodosia Garrison_, 135. + + Song of Fairies, A, _Elizabeth Kirby_, 131. + + Song of the Weary Traveller, _Blanche Shoemaker Wagstaff_, 267. + + Song of Wandering Aengus, The, _W. B. Yeats_, 177. + + Song to Belinda, A, _Theodosia Garrison_, 132. + + Sonnet: "Drop me the seed, that I, even in my brain," _John + Masefield_, 257. + + Sonnet: "It may be so; but let the unknown be," _John Masefield_, 10. + + Sonnet: "The sweet caresses that I gave to you," _Elsa Barker_, 135. + + Sorrow in a Garden, _May Riley Smith_, 260. + + South Wind, _Siegfried Sassoon_, 102. + + Spirit of the Birch, The, _Arthur Ketchum_, 156. + + Spring, _John Gould Fletcher_, 20. + + Spring, _Francis Ledwidge_, 26. + + Spring Beauties, The, _Helen Gray Cone_, 68. + + Spring Patchwork, _Abbie Farwell Brown_, 231. + + Spring Planting, _Helen Hay Whitney_, 239. + + Spring Song, _Hilda Conkling_, 236. + + Spring Song, _William Griffith_, 62. + + Stairways and Gardens, _Ella Wheeler Wilcox_, 94. + + Sun, Cardinal, and Corn Flowers, _Hannah Parker Kimball_, 48. + + Sunflowers, _Clinton Scollard_, 48. + + Sweetheart-Lady, _Frank L. Stanton_, 133. + + Sweetwilliam, To the, _Norman Gale_, 88. + + + Tell-Tale, _Oliver Herford_, 142. + + "The Lord God planted a garden," _Dorothy Frances Gurney_, 255. + + "There is strength in the soil," _Arthur Stringer_, 4. + + Thief, Da, _T. A. Daly_, 143. + + Thistle, The, _Miles M. Dawson_, 104. + + Thoughts fer the Discuraged Farmer, _James Whitcomb Riley_, 225. + + Three Cherry Trees, The, _Walter de la Mare_, 178. + + Tilling, The, _Cale Young Rice_, 258. + + Time of Roses, The, _Sarojini Naidu_, 122. + + To a Daisy, _Alice Meynell_, 109. + + To a New Sundial, _Violet Fane_, 13. + + To a Weed, _Gertrude Hall_, 102. + + To the Sweetwilliam, _Norman Gale_, 88. + + Tree, The, _Evelyn Underhill_, 153. + + Trees, _Bliss Carman_, 160. + + Trees, _Joyce Kilmer_, 165. + + Trees, The, _Samuel Valentine Cole_, 162. + + Tulip Garden, A, _Amy Lowell_, 30. + + Tulips, _Arthur Guiterman_, 31. + + Two Roses, _William Lindsey_, 138. + + + "Under the Trees," Selection from, _Anna Hempstead Branch_, 151. + + Up a Hill and a Hill, _Fannie Stearns Davis_, 100. + + + Velvets, _Hilda Conkling_, 237. + + "Vestured and veiled with twilight," _Rosamund Marriott Watson_, 282. + + + Wall, The, _Abbie Farwell Brown_, 112. + + Ways of Time, The, _William H. Davies_, 172. + + Weed, To a, _Gertrude Hall_, 102. + + Welcome, _John Curtis Underwood_, 264. + + Welcome, The, _Arthur Powell_, 19. + + "What heart but fears a fragrance?" _Martha Gilbert Dickinson + Bianchi_, 185. + + When Swallows Build, _Catherine Parmenter_, 238. + + "Where love is life," _Duncan Campbell Scott_, 121. + + While April Rain went by, _Shaemas O Sheel_, 25. + + Whisper of Earth, The, _Edward J. O'Brien_, 6. + + White Iris, A, _Pauline B. Barrington_, 32. + + White Peacock, The, _William Sharp_, 196. + + White Rose, The, _Charles Hanson Towne_, 173. + + Wild Gardens, _Ada Foster Murray_, 106. + + Wild Rose, The, _Charles Buxton Going_, 99. + + Witchery, _Frank Dempster Sherman_, 68. + + With a Rose, to Brunhilde, _Vachel Lindsay_, 127. + + "With memories and odors," _John Hall Wheelock_, 24. + + "Within the garden there is healthfulness," _Emile Verhaeren_, 6. + + Wonder Garden, A, _Frederic A. Whiting_, 266. + + Wood Song, _Sara Teasdale_, 284. + + + Years Afterward, _Nancy Byrd Turner_, 186. + + Yellow Warblers, _Katharine Lee Bates_, 67. + + + + +INDEX OF AUTHORS + + + A. E., 4. + + AIKEN, CONRAD, 25. + + AKINS, ZOË, 55. + + ANDERSON, MARGARET STEELE, 273. + + + BAILEY, L. H., 148. + + BARKER, ELSA, 135. + + BARRINGTON, PAULINE B., 32. + + BATES, KATHARINE LEE, 67, 123. + + BECKER, CHARLOTTE, 125. + + BIANCHI, MARTHA GILBERT DICKINSON, 185. + + BIDDLE, LIVINGSTON L., 131. + + BRANCH, ANNA HEMPSTEAD, 151, 179. + + BRERETON, M. G., 93. + + BROWN, ABBIE FARWELL, 112, 231, 244. + + BURNET, DANA, 191. + + BURR, AMELIA JOSEPHINE, 73, 235, 270. + + BURTON, RICHARD, 208, 254. + + BYNNER, WITTER, 30, 65. + + + CARMAN, BLISS, 23, 160, 169. + + CAWEIN, MADISON, 81, 169. + + CHOCANO, JOSÉ SANTOS, 34. + + CLEGHORN, SARAH N., 82. + + COATES, FLORENCE EARLE, 40, 111. + + COLE, SAMUEL VALENTINE, 162. + + COLUM, PADRAIC, 3. + + CONE, HELEN GRAY, 68. + + CONKLING, GRACE HAZARD, 63, 99, 130, 217, 250. + + CONKLING, HILDA, 236, 237. + + CRAPSEY, ADELAIDE, 55, 110. + + + DALY, T. A., 40, 143. + + DAVIES, WILLIAM H., 9, 172. + + DAVIS, FANNIE STEARNS, 100. + + DAWSON, MILES M., 104. + + DE LA MARE, WALTER, 178. + + DELAND, MARGARET, 116. + + DENISON, ELDREDGE, 189. + + DODGE, LOUIS, 139. + + DORR, JULIA C. R., 91, 170. + + DRISCOLL, LOUISE, 226. + + + E., A., 4. + + EASTAWAY, EDWARD, 276. + + EVANS, FLORENCE WILKINSON, 205. + + + FANE, VIOLET, 13. + + FENOLLOSA, MARY MCNEIL, 18, 221, 247. + + FISH, W. W. BLAIR, 219. + + FLETCHER, JOHN GOULD, 20. + + FOSTER, JEANNE ROBERT, 262. + + FROST, ROBERT, 5, 50, 92, 104. + + + GALE, NORMAN, 88. + + GARRISON, THEODOSIA, 132, 135, 150, 164. + + GIBSON, WILFRID WILSON, 138. + + GOING, CHARLES BUXTON, 99, 249. + + GOSSE, EDMUND, 126. + + GRIFFITH, WILLIAM, 62. + + GUEST, EDGAR A., 145. + + GUINEY, LOUISE IMOGEN, 268. + + GUITERMAN, ARTHUR, 31, 39, 66. + + GURNEY, DOROTHY FRANCES, 209, 255. + + + HAGEDORN, HERMANN, 61, 74. + + HALL, GERTRUDE, 102. + + HARDING, RUTH GUTHRIE, 28, 267. + + HAYES, JOHN RUSSELL, 45, 83. + + HERFORD, OLIVER, 142. + + HODGSON, RALPH, 275. + + HOLLEY, HORACE, 7. + + HOOKER, BRIAN, 181. + + HOPE, LAURENCE, 195. + + HOUSMAN, A. E., 155. + + HOWARD, KATHARINE, 240. + + HOWELLS, MILDRED, 188. + + HUBBELL, ROSE STRONG, 239. + + + JEWETT, SARAH ORNE, 263. + + JEWETT, SOPHIE, 207. + + JOHNSON, BURGES, 242. + + JOHNSON, ROBERT UNDERWOOD, 207. + + JONES, THOMAS S., JR., 36, 128, 168. + + + KEMP, HARRY, 14, 269. + + KENYON, JAMES B., 86. + + KETCHUM, ARTHUR, 156. + + KILMER, JOYCE, 165. + + KIMBALL, HANNAH PARKER, 48. + + KIRBY, ELIZABETH, 131. + + KREYMBORG, ALFRED, 158. + + + LEDWIDGE, FRANCIS, 26. + + LEE, AGNES, 124. + + LE GALLIENNE, RICHARD, 33, 60. + + LETTS, W. M., 110. + + LINDSAY, VACHEL, 107, 127. + + LINDSEY, WILLIAM, 138. + + LIVINGSTON, ROBERT, 230. + + LODGE, GEORGE CABOT, 21. + + LOWELL, AMY, 30, 72, 176, 203, 250, 283. + + + MCCARTHY, DENIS A., 22. + + MCGIFFERT, GERTRUDE HUNTINGTON, 46, 80, 211. + + MCLEOD, IRENE RUTHERFORD, 98. + + MCMILLAN, MARY, 51. + + MALLOCH, DOUGLAS, 36, 156. + + MARKHAM, CATHERINE, 152. + + MARKHAM, EDWIN, 76, 270, 284. + + MARTINEZ, R. AREVALO, 279. + + MASEFIELD, JOHN, 10, 257. + + MASTERS, EDGAR LEE, 277. + + MEYNELL, ALICE, 109, 123. + + MIDDLETON, RICHARD, 186. + + MIFFLIN, LLOYD, 159. + + MILLAY, EDNA ST. VINCENT, 49, 115, 190. + + MONROE, HARRIET, 153. + + MORGAN, ANGELA, 37, 149, 275. + + MOWRER, PAUL SCOTT, 75. + + MURRAY, ADA FOSTER, 106. + + + NAIDU, SAROJINI, 20, 122. + + NESBIT, E., 234. + + NOYES, ALFRED, 35. + + + O'BRIEN, EDWARD J., 6. + + O'CONOR, NORREYS JEPHSON, 133. + + OPPENHEIM, JAMES, 42. + + O SHEEL, SHAEMAS, 25. + + OXENHAM, JOHN, 278, 285. + + + PAI TA-SHUN, 204. + + PARMENTER, CATHERINE, 238. + + PATCH, KATE WHITING, 65. + + PATTERSON, ANTOINETTE DE COURSEY, 52, 72, 129, 202. + + PEABODY, JOSEPHINE PRESTON, 11, 125, 140. + + PEACH, ARTHUR WALLACE, 12, 77. + + PICKTHALL, MARJORIE L. C., 184. + + POWELL, ARTHUR, 19. + + + REESE, LIZETTE WOODWORTH, 27, 212, 218. + + RICE, CALE YOUNG, 258. + + RICE, JOHN PIERREPONT, 34. + + RICHARDS, LAURA E., 232. + + RILEY, JAMES WHITCOMB, 225. + + RITTENHOUSE, JESSIE B., 198. + + ROBINSON, CORINNE ROOSEVELT, 117. + + ROSS, CHARLES, 95. + + RUSSELL, GEORGE WILLIAM, 4. + + + SASSOON, SIEGFRIED, 102. + + SCHAUFFLER, ROBERT HAVEN, 259. + + SCOLLARD, CLINTON, 28, 48, 172, 195, 201. + + SCOTT, DUNCAN CAMPBELL, 121. + + SELINGER, EMILY, 243. + + SHARP, WILLIAM, 196. + + SHEPARD, ODELL, 63. + + SHERMAN, FRANK DEMPSTER, 68, 241. + + SMITH, MARION COUTHOUY, 75. + + SMITH, MAY RILEY, 260. + + STANTON, FRANK L., 69, 133. + + STEPHENS, JAMES, 71. + + STERLING, GEORGE, 127. + + STORK, CHARLES WHARTON, 50, 114. + + STRINGER, ARTHUR, 4. + + + TABB, JOHN B., 9, 105. + + TAGORE, RABINDRANATH, 200, 246. + + TEASDALE, SARA, 53, 199, 256, 262, 284. + + THIRLMERE, ROWLAND, 8. + + THOMAS, EDITH M., 54, 216. + + THOMAS, EDWARD, 276. + + TOWNE, CHARLES HANSON, 139, 173. + + TURNER, NANCY BYRD, 186. + + TYNAN, KATHARINE, 223, 273. + + + UNDERHILL, EVELYN, 153. + + UNDERWOOD, JOHN CURTIS, 264. + + UNTERMEYER, LOUIS, 108, 174. + + UPSON, ARTHUR, 179, 213. + + + VAN DYKE, HENRY, 265. + + VAN RENSSELAER, MRS. SCHUYLER, 57. + + VERHAEREN, EMILE, 6, 44, 136. + + VERNÈDE, ROBERT ERNEST, 43. + + + WAGSTAFF, BLANCHE SHOEMAKER, 267. + + WALSH, THOMAS, 183, 194, 210. + + WATSON, ROSAMUND MARRIOTT, 181, 282. + + WATSON, WILLIAM, 212. + + WHEELOCK, JOHN HALL, 2, 24, 130. + + WHITE, JAMES TERRY, 183. + + WHITING, FREDERIC A., 134, 266. + + WHITNEY, HELEN HAY, 141, 239. + + WIDDEMER, MARGARET, 87, 245. + + WILCOX, ELLA WHEELER, 94, 280. + + WILKINSON, MARGUERITE, 221. + + WOOD, CLEMENT, 90. + + WOOD, HENRY A. WISE, 101. + + WOODBERRY, GEORGE EDWARD, 120, 255. + + + YEATS, W. B., 177. + + + + + The Riverside Press + CAMBRIDGE, MASSACHUSETTS + U. S. A. + + * * * * * + +Transcriber's Notes: + +Punctuation and obvious spelling errors repaired, but variant spellings +retained. + +Inconsistent indentations within a poem were retained. + +In original, book title "Melody of Earth" appears twice at beginning, +and "Index of Titles" and "Index of Authors" headings appear twice +before their respective indexes. These redundancies were removed. + +Shaemas O Sheel: name occurs consistently with no punctuation after the +O. + +Spaces were removed from spaced contractions: for example, "'t was" to +"'twas," "that 's" to "that's," "did n't" to "didn't." + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Melody of Earth, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MELODY OF EARTH *** + +***** This file should be named 38438-8.txt or 38438-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/8/4/3/38438/ + +Produced by Charlene Taylor, JoAnn Greenwood, and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net +(This file was produced from images generously made +available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +https://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +https://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at https://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit https://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including including checks, online payments and credit card +donations. To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/38438-8.zip b/38438-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..4e21c43 --- /dev/null +++ b/38438-8.zip diff --git a/38438-h.zip b/38438-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..f5b6596 --- /dev/null +++ b/38438-h.zip diff --git a/38438-h/38438-h.htm b/38438-h/38438-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2198022 --- /dev/null +++ b/38438-h/38438-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,11091 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<!-- $Id: header.txt 236 2009-12-07 18:57:00Z vlsimpson $ --> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Melody of Earth, selected and arranged by Mrs. Waldo Richards. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + + h3 {text-align: center; + margin-top: 3em; + clear: both;} + +big { font-size:140%; } +small { font-size:60%; } + +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; +} + +table {width: 70%; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} + +ul li {list-style-type: none;} + + +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; +} /* page numbers */ + + +/* Vertical Spacing */ + +.medskip { +padding-top: 1em; +} + +.bigskip { +padding-top: 1.25em; +} + +.hugeskip { +padding-top: 3em; +} + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +.transnote {background-color:#EEE; color: inherit; margin: 2em 10% 1em 10%; +font-size: 80%; padding: 0.5em 1em 0.5em 1em; text-align: left;} + +.signature { + margin-right: 30%; + text-align: right;} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +/* Images */ +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; +} + +/* Poetry */ + +.cpoem1 {width: 50%; margin: 0 auto;} +.cpoem1 br {display: none;} +.cpoem1 .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} +.cpoem1 span.i0 { + display: block; + margin-left: 0em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em;} + +.cpoem1 span.i2 { + display: block; + margin-left: 1em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em;} + +.cpoem1 span.i4 { + display: block; + margin-left: 2em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em;} + +.cpoem1 span.i6 { + display: block; + margin-left: 3em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em;} + +.cpoem1 span.i8 { + display: block; + margin-left: 4em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em;} + +.cpoem1 span.i10 { + display: block; + margin-left: 5em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em;} + +.cpoem1 span.i14 { + display: block; + margin-left: 7em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em;} + + +.cpoem2 {width: 70%; margin: 0 auto;} +.cpoem2 br {display: none;} +.cpoem2 .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} +.cpoem2 span.i0 { + display: block; + margin-left: 0em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em;} + +.cpoem2 span.i2 { + display: block; + margin-left: 1em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em;} + +.cpoem2 span.i4 { + display: block; + margin-left: 2em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em;} + +.cpoem2 span.i6 { + display: block; + margin-left: 3em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em;} + +.cpoem2 span.i8 { + display: block; + margin-left: 4em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em;} + +.cpoem2 span.i12 { + display: block; + margin-left: 6em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em;} + +.cpoem2 span.i14 { + display: block; + margin-left: 7em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em;} + +.cpoem2 span.i22 { + display: block; + margin-left: 11em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em;} + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Melody of Earth, by Various + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Melody of Earth + An Anthology of Garden and Nature Poems From Present-Day Poets + +Author: Various + +Release Date: December 30, 2011 [EBook #38438] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MELODY OF EARTH *** + + + + +Produced by Charlene Taylor, JoAnn Greenwood, and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net +(This file was produced from images generously made +available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + + + + + +</pre> + + + + +<h1> +THE MELODY OF +EARTH</h1> +<div class="bigskip"></div> + +<h1><small>AN ANTHOLOGY<br /> +OF GARDEN AND NATURE POEMS<br /> +FROM PRESENT-DAY POETS</small></h1> +<div class="hugeskip"></div> + +<h2><small>SELECTED<br /> +AND ARRANGED BY</small><br /><br /> +MRS. WALDO RICHARDS</h2> + +<div class="medskip"></div> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 300px;"> +<img src="images/titledec.png" width="300" height="215" alt="" title="" /> +</div> +<div class="medskip"></div> +<div class="center">BOSTON AND NEW YORK<br /> +HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY<br /> +1918</div> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<div class="center">COPYRIGHT, 1918, BY GERTRUDE MOORE RICHARDS<br /> + +ALL RIGHTS RESERVED<br /> +<div class="medskip"></div> +<i>Published March 1918</i></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="center">TO<br /> + +MY DEAR SISTER<br /> + +A LOVER OF GARDENS</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>FOREWORD</h2> + + +<p>How many of us are conscious of the subtle melodies, "through which the +myriad lispings of the earth find perfect speech"?</p> + +<p>Our poets are listeners; their ears are tuned to the magic call of +secret voices that we who are not singers may never hear. They capture +the "Melody" in chalices of song, and their message is: that whosoever +will bend his ear to earth, may hear from field and furrow, from the +many-bladed grass and the soft-petalled flowers—in the soughing of the +pine tree or the rustle of leaves—an immortal music that revivifies the +soul.</p> + +<p>In the quiet tilled spots of earth, from time immemorial, men have sown +rare seeds of poetic thought that have flowered into song. Amiel wrote +in his <i>Journal</i>: "All seed-sowing is a mysterious thing whether the +seed fall into earth or into souls; man is a husbandman, and his work +rightly understood is to develop life, to sow it everywhere." The poets +are our seed-sowers, and <i>their</i> work is to develop life and to enrich +it. They are never happier than when writing about gardens and the +growing things of earth—at once their symbol and their solace. In turn +gardens have in the poets their happiest interpreters.</p> + +<p>Here I have culled and gathered together songs and poems that reflect +the melody and harmony of Nature's forces. In these days of the world's +travail, let us seek inspiration and content within the delightful +confines of these Gardens of Poetry.</p> + +<div class="signature"><span class="smcap">Gertrude Moore Richards</span></div> + +<p><i>March</i>, 1918</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[Pg ix]</a></span></p> + +<h2>ACKNOWLEDGMENTS</h2> + + +<p>Mrs. Richards tenders her sincere thanks to the publishers and poets who +have so generously accorded their permission to use copyrighted poems:</p> + +<p>To the American Tract Society for "Seeds" and "The Philosopher's +Garden," John Oxenham, from <i>Bees in Amber</i>.</p> + +<p>To Messrs. D. Appleton & Co. for "The Mocking-Bird," Frank L. Stanton, +from <i>Songs of the Soil</i>.</p> + +<p>To the Baker & Taylor Co. for "June Rapture" and "The Rose," Angela +Morgan, from <i>The Hour has Struck, and Other Poems</i> and <i>Utterance, and +Other Poems</i>.</p> + +<p>To The Biddle Press for "The Old-fashioned Garden" and "Poppies," John +Russell Hayes, from <i>Collected Poems</i>.</p> + +<p>To the Bobbs-Merrill Company for "Thoughts fer the Discuraged Farmer," +James Whitcomb Riley, from <i>Complete Works</i>.</p> + +<p>To Edmund A. Brooks, Minneapolis, for "Daffodils" and "From a +Car-Window," Ruth Guthrie Harding, from <i>The Lark went Singing, and +Other Poems</i>.</p> + +<p>To Messrs. Burns & Oates and to Alice Meynell (Mrs. Wilfrid Meynell) for +"To a Daisy" and "The Garden" from <i>Collected Poems</i>; for "Rosa +Mystica," Katharine Tynan (Mrs. Henry Albert Hinkson), from <i>The Flower +of Peace</i>.</p> + +<p>To The Century Co. for "Larkspur," James Oppenheim, from <i>War and +Laughter</i>; for "The Tilling," Cale Young Rice, from <i>Trails Sunward</i>; +for "The Haunted Garden," Louis Untermeyer, from <i>Challenge</i>.</p> + +<p>To Messrs. Constable & Co. for "For These," Edward Thomas (Edward +Eastaway), from <i>An Annual of New Poetry</i>.</p> + +<p>To <i>Country Life</i> (London) and to Mrs. Gurney personally for "The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">[Pg x]</a></span> Lord +God planted a Garden" and "A Garden in Venice," by Dorothy Frances +Gurney, from <i>Poems</i>.</p> + +<p>To Messrs. Thomas Y. Crowell Company for "Love planted a Rose," +Katharine Lee Bates, from <i>America, and Other Poems</i>; for "An Exile's +Garden," Sophie Jewett, from <i>Collected Poems</i>.</p> + +<p>To Messrs. J. M. Dent & Sons for "The Spring Beauties," Helen Gray Cone, +from <i>The Chant of Love, and Other Poems</i>.</p> + +<p>To Messrs. Dodd, Mead & Co. for "In a Garden," Livingston L. Biddle, +from <i>The Understanding Hills</i>.</p> + +<p>To Messrs. George H. Doran Company for "The Cricket in the Path," "Herb +of Grace," and "Rain in the Night," Amelia Josephine Burr, from <i>In Deep +Places</i> and <i>Life and Living</i>; for "A Song in a Garden," "Shade," and +"The Poplars," Theodosia Garrison, from <i>The Dreamers, and Other Poems</i>; +for "Trees," Joyce Kilmer, from <i>Trees, and Other Poems</i>; for "June," +Douglas Malloch, from <i>The Woods</i>; for "Where Love is Life," Duncan +Campbell Scott, from "The Three Songs" in <i>Lundy's Lane, and Other +Poems</i>.</p> + +<p>To Messrs. Doubleday, Page & Co. for "A Prayer," "The Butterfly," and +"Before Mary of Magdala came," Edwin Markham, from <i>The Man with the +Hoe, and Other Poems</i> and <i>The Shoes of Happiness, and Other Poems</i>.</p> + +<p>To Messrs. Duffield & Co. for "The sweet caresses that I gave to you," +Elsa Barker, from <i>The Book of Love</i>; for "What heart but fears a +fragrance?" ("Zauber Duft"), Martha Gilbert Dickinson Bianchi, from +<i>Gabrielle, and Other Poems</i>; for "Spring," Francis Ledwidge, from +<i>Songs of the Fields</i>; for "The White Peacock," William Sharp, from +<i>Songs and Poems</i>.</p> + +<p>To Messrs. E. P. Dutton & Co. for "The South Wind," Siegfried Sassoon, +from <i>The Old Huntsman, and Other Poems</i>; for "The Tree," Evelyn +Underhill, from <i>Theophanies</i>.</p> + +<p>To Messrs. H. W. Fisher & Co. for "A Dream," "The Autumn Rose," +"Fireflies," and "An Evening in Old Japan," Antoinette De Coursey +Patterson, from <i>Sonnets and Quatrains</i> and <i>The Son of Merope, and +Other Poems</i>.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">[Pg xi]</a></span></p> + +<p>To Messrs. Harper & Brothers for "Roses in the Subway," Dana Burnet, +from <i>Poems</i>; for "The Wild Rose," and "If I were a Fairy," Charles +Buxton Going, from <i>Star-Glow and Song</i>; for "The Cardinal-Bird," Arthur +Guiterman, from <i>The Laughing Muse</i>; for "Wild Gardens," Ada Foster +Murray, from <i>Flowers of the Grass</i>; for "The Message," Helen Hay +Whitney, from <i>Sonnets and Songs</i>.</p> + +<p>To Hearst's International Library Company for "Stairways and Gardens" +and "My Flower-Room," Ella Wheeler Wilcox, from <i>World Voices</i>.</p> + +<p>To Mr. William Heinemann for "The Cactus," Laurence Hope, from <i>Stars of +the Desert</i>; for "The July Garden," R. E. Vernède, from <i>War Poems, and +Other Verses</i>; for "A Garden-Piece," Edmund Gosse, from <i>Collected +Poems</i>.</p> + +<p>To Messrs. Henry Holt & Co. for "The Cloister Garden at Certosa," +Richard Burton, from <i>Poems of Earth's Meaning</i>; for "The Furrow," +Padraic Colum, from <i>Wild Earth, and Other Poems</i>; for "The Three Cherry +Trees," Walter de la Mare, from <i>The Listeners, and Other Poems</i>; for "A +Late Walk," "Asking for Roses," "The Pasture," and "Putting in the +Seed," Robert Frost, from <i>A Boy's Will</i>, <i>North of Boston</i>, and <i>A +Mountain Interval</i>; for "Joe-Pyeweed," Louis Untermeyer, from <i>These +Times</i>.</p> + +<p>To Messrs. Houghton Mifflin Company for "The Blooming of the Rose" and +the selection from "Under the Trees," Anna Hempstead Branch, from <i>The +Heart of the Road</i> and <i>The Shoes that Danced, and Other Poems</i>; for +"Spring Patchwork" and "The Flowerphone," Abbie Farwell Brown, from <i>A +Pocketful of Posies</i> and <i>Songs of Sixpence</i>; for "The Morning-Glory" +and "Jewel-Weed," Florence Earle Coates, from <i>Collected Poems</i>; for +"Nightingales" and "A Breath of Mint," Grace Hazard Conkling, from +<i>Afternoons of April</i>; for "The Golden-Rod," Margaret Deland, from <i>The +Old Garden, and Other Verses</i>; for "A Roman Garden," Florence Wilkinson +Evans, from <i>The Ride Home</i>; for "Cobwebs," Louise Imogen Guiney, from +<i>Happy Ending</i>; for "Planting," Robert Livingston, from <i>Murrer and Me</i>; +for "Primavera," George Cabot Lodge, from <i>Poems and Dramas</i>; for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xii" id="Page_xii">[Pg xii]</a></span> "Ever +the Same," "Charm: To be said in the Sun," and "But we did walk in +Eden," Josephine Preston Peabody, from <i>The Singing Leaves</i> and <i>The +Singing Man</i>; for "At Isola Bella" ("A White Peacock"), Jessie B. +Rittenhouse, from <i>The Door of Dreams</i>; for "The Goldfinch," Odell +Shepard, from <i>A Lonely Flute</i>; for "Daisies" and "Witchery," Frank +Dempster Sherman, from <i>Poems</i>; for "Grandmother's Gathering Boneset," +Edith M. Thomas, from <i>In Sunshine Land</i>.</p> + +<p>To Mr. B. W. Huebsch for "Song from 'April,'" Irene Rutherford McLeod, +from <i>Songs to Save a Soul</i>.</p> + +<p>To Messrs. George W. Jacobs & Co. for "Vestured and veiled with +twilight," Rosamund Marriott Watson, from <i>The Heart of a Garden</i>.</p> + +<p>To Mr. R. U. Johnson (publisher) for "Como in April," Robert Underwood +Johnson, from <i>Collected Poems</i>.</p> + +<p>To Mr. Mitchell Kennerley for "A Song to Belinda," Theodosia Garrison, +from <i>Earth Cry</i>; for "In a Garden," Horace Holley, from <i>Divinations +and Creations</i>; for "Afternoon on a Hill," "The End of Summer," and "A +Little Ghost," Edna St. Vincent Millay, from <i>Renascence, and Other +Poems</i>; for "Welcome," John Curtis Underwood, from <i>Processionals</i>; for +"Ære Perennius," Charles Hanson Towne, from <i>A Quiet Singer</i>.</p> + +<p>To Mr. Alfred A. Knopf for "The Rain" and "The Ways of Time," William H. +Davies, from <i>Collected Poems</i>.</p> + +<p>To The John Lane Company (New York) for "Loveliest of Trees," A. E. +Housman, from <i>A Shropshire Lad</i>; for "May is building her House," and +"I meant to do my work to-day," Richard Le Gallienne, from <i>The Lonely +Dancer</i>; for "The Joy of the Springtime," and "The Time of Roses," +Sarojini Naidu, from <i>The Bird of Time</i> and <i>The Broken Wing</i>; for +"Heart's Garden," Norreys Jephson O'Conor, from <i>Celtic Memories</i>; for +"Serenade," Marjorie L. C. Pickthall, from <i>The Lamp of Poor Souls</i>; for +"There is Strength in the Soil," Arthur Stringer, from <i>Open Water</i>; for +"Midsummer blooms within our quiet garden ways," "It was June in the +garden," and "Within the garden there is healthfulness," Emile +Verhaeren, from <i>The Sunlit Hours</i> and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xiii" id="Page_xiii">[Pg xiii]</a></span> <i>Afternoon</i>; for "In a Garden of +Granada," Thomas Walsh, from <i>Gardens Overseas</i>; for "The Garden of +Mnemosyne," Rosamund Marriott Watson, from <i>Collected Poems</i>; for +"Eden-Hunger," William Watson, from <i>Retrogression, and Other Poems</i>; +for "Spring Planting," Helen Hay Whitney, from <i>Herbs and Apples</i>.</p> + +<p>To Messrs. Little, Brown & Co. for "To a Weed," Gertrude Hall, from <i>The +Age of Fairy Gold</i>; for "The Green o' the Spring," Denis A. McCarthy, +from <i>Voices from Erin</i>; for "The Baby's Valentine," Laura E. Richards, +from <i>In my Nursery</i>.</p> + +<p>To Messrs. Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Company for "God's Garden," Richard +Burton, from <i>Dumb in June</i>.</p> + +<p>To Mr. David McKay for "The Blossomy Barrow" and "Da Thief," Thomas +Augustine Daly, from <i>Madrigali</i>; for "A Soft Day," W. M. Letts, from +<i>Songs from Leinster</i>.</p> + +<p>To The Macmillan Company for "Old Homes," Madison Cawein, from <i>Poems</i>; +for "Up a Hill and a Hill," Fannie Stearns Davis, from <i>Myself and I</i>; +for "In the Womb," A. E. (George William Russell), from <i>Collected +Poems</i>; for "To the Sweetwilliam," Norman Gale, from <i>Collected Poems</i>; +for "Roses," Wilfrid Wilson Gibson, from <i>Battle, and Other Poems</i>; for +"Rest at Noon" and "The Hummingbird," Hermann Hagedorn, from <i>Poems and +Ballads</i>; for "The Mystery," Ralph Hodgson, from <i>Poems</i>; for "The +Dandelion" and "With a Rose, to Brunhilde," Vachel Lindsay, from +<i>General William Booth enters into Heaven, and Other Poems</i> and <i>A Handy +Guide for Beggars</i>; for "A Tulip Garden," "Fringed Gentians," and "The +Fruit Garden Path," Amy Lowell, from <i>Sword Blades and Poppy Seed</i> and +<i>The Dome of Many-coloured Glass</i>; for "It may be so: but let the +unknown be" and "Drop me the Seed," John Masefield, from <i>Lollingdon +Downs, and Other Poems</i>; for "Samuel Gardner," Edgar Lee Masters, from +<i>The Spoon River Anthology</i>; for "Go down to Kew in lilac-time" +(selection from "The Barrel-Organ"), Alfred Noyes, from <i>Poems</i>; for +"The Messenger," James Stephens, from <i>Songs from the Clay</i>; for "The +Champa Flower" and "The Flower-School," Rabindranath Tagore, from <i>The +Crescent Moon</i>; for "Indian Summer," "Alchemy,"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xiv" id="Page_xiv">[Pg xiv]</a></span> "The Fountain," +"Barter," and "Wood Song," Sara Teasdale, from <i>Rivers to the Sea</i> and +<i>Love Songs</i>; for "The Message," George Edward Woodberry, from <i>Poems</i>; +for "The Song of Wandering Aengus," W. B. Yeats, from <i>Poems</i>.</p> + +<p>To Mr. Elkin Mathews and to Mr. Rowland Thirlmere personally for "A +Shower," from <i>Polyclitus, and Other Poems</i>.</p> + +<p>To the Manas Press, Rochester, N.Y., for "November Night" and "Arbutus," +Adelaide Crapsey, from <i>Verses</i>.</p> + +<p>To Messrs. John P. Morton & Co., Louisville, Ky., for "Conscience," +Margaret Steele Anderson, from <i>The Flame in the Wind</i>.</p> + +<p>To Mr. Thomas Bird Mosher for "Beyond," "As in a Rose-Jar," and "My soul +is like a garden-close," Thomas S. Jones, Jr., from <i>The Voice in the +Silence</i> and <i>The Rose-Jar</i>; for "A Seller of Herbs," "The Garden at +Bemerton," and "April Weather," Lizette Woodworth Reese, from <i>A Handful +of Lavender</i>; for "Frost To-night," Edith M. Thomas, from <i>The Flower +from the Ashes</i>; for "In an Oxford Garden" and "Old Gardens," Arthur +Upson, from <i>Octaves in an Oxford Garden</i> and <i>Collected Poems</i>.</p> + +<p>To Messrs. G. P. Putnam's Sons for "In an Old Garden," Madison Cawein, +from <i>Moods and Melodies</i>; for "If I could dig like a Rabbit," Rose +Strong Hubbell, from <i>If I could Fly</i>; for "The Anxious Farmer," Burges +Johnson, from <i>Rhymes of Home</i>; for "In an August Garden," "Amiel's +Garden," and "The Garden," Gertrude Huntington McGiffert, from <i>A +Florentine Cycle</i>.</p> + +<p>To The Reilly & Britton Co. for "Results and Roses," Edgar A. Guest, +from <i>Heap o' Livin'</i>.</p> + +<p>To Mr. Grant Richards for "Loveliest of Trees," A. E. Housman, from <i>A +Shropshire Lad</i>.</p> + +<p>To Mr. A. M. Robertson (San Francisco) for "How many flowers are gently +met," George Sterling, from <i>The Testimony of the Sun, and Other Poems</i>.</p> + +<p>To Messrs. Charles Scribner's Sons for "Miracle," L. H. Bailey, from +<i>Wind and Weather</i>; for "Four O'Clocks" and "Homesick," Julia C. R. +Dorr, from <i>Poems and Last Poems</i>; for "Tell-Tale," Oliver<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xv" id="Page_xv">[Pg xv]</a></span> Herford, +from <i>Overheard in a Garden</i>; for "In the Garden" and "The Deserted +Garden," Pai Ta-Shun (Frederick Peterson), from <i>Chinese Lyrics</i> (Kelly +& Walsh, Hongkong); for "The Child in the Garden," Henry van Dyke, from +<i>Collected Poems</i>.</p> + +<p>To Messrs. Sherman, French & Co. for "The Trees," Samuel Valentine Cole, +from <i>The Great Gray King, and Other Poems</i>; for "Her Garden," Eldredge +Denison, from <i>Ballads and Lyrics</i>; for "Moth-Flowers," Jeanne Robert +Foster, from <i>Wild Apples</i>; for "The Little God," Katharine Howard, from +<i>The Little God, and Other Poems</i>; for "Cloud and Flower," Agnes Lee, +from <i>The Sharing, and Other Poems</i>; for "The Dials" and "The Secret," +Arthur Wallace Peach, from <i>The Hill Trails</i>; for "A Garden Prayer" and +"In Memory's Garden," Thomas Walsh, from <i>The Prison Ships, and Other +Poems</i>; for "Prayer" and "With memories and odors," John Hall Wheelock, +from <i>Love and Liberation</i>.</p> + +<p>To Messrs. Sidgwick & Jackson for "A Song of Fairies," by Elizabeth +Kirby, from <i>The Bridegroom</i>.</p> + +<p>To Messrs. Small, Maynard & Co. for "Trees," "The Garden of Dreams," and +"An April Morning," Bliss Carman, from <i>April Airs</i>; for "The Whisper of +Earth," Edward J. O'Brien, from <i>White Fountains</i>; for "The Dews" and +"Clover," John Banister Tabb, from <i>Lyrics</i>.</p> + +<p>To Messrs. Stewart & Kidd Company, Cincinnati, for "The Golden Bowl," +Mary McMillan, from <i>The Little Golden Fountain, and Other Poems</i>.</p> + +<p>To Messrs. Frederick A. Stokes Company for "A Mocking-Bird" and "The +Early Gods," Witter Bynner, from <i>Grenstone Poems</i>; for "The Proud +Vegetables" and "Iris Flowers," Mary McNeil Fenollosa, from <i>Blossoms +from a Japanese Garden</i>.</p> + +<p>To Mr. T. Fisher Unwin for "Autumnal," Richard Middleton, from <i>Poems +and Songs</i>.</p> + +<p>To Messrs. James T. White & Co. for "Flowers of June," James Terry +White, from <i>A Garden of Remembrance</i>; for "Song of the Weary Traveller," +Blanche Shoemaker Wagstaff, from <i>Narcissus, and Other Poems</i>.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xvi" id="Page_xvi">[Pg xvi]</a></span></p> + +<p>To the <i>Atlantic Monthly</i> for "April Rain," Conrad Aiken; for "Yellow +Warblers," Katharine Lee Bates; for "Safe," Robert Haven Schauffler; for +"The Lilies," George Edward Woodberry.</p> + +<p>To the <i>Century Magazine</i> for "Order," Paul Scott Mowrer.</p> + +<p>To the <i>Christian Science Monitor</i> for "Family Trees," Douglas Malloch.</p> + +<p>To the <i>Churchman</i> for "The Faithless Flowers," Margaret Widdemer.</p> + +<p>To <i>Contemporary Verse</i> for "The Road to the Pool," Grace Hazard +Conkling; for "The Night-Moth," Marion Couthouy Smith.</p> + +<p>To the <i>Craftsman</i> for "The Scissors-Man," Grace Hazard Conkling.</p> + +<p>To the <i>Delineator</i> for "In my Mother's Garden," Margaret Widdemer.</p> + +<p>To <i>Everybody's Magazine</i> for "Years Afterward," Nancy Byrd Turner.</p> + +<p>To <i>Harper's Monthly Magazine</i> for "Progress," Charlotte Becker; for +"Oh, tell me how my garden grows," Mildred Howells; for "A Song for +Winter," Mrs. Schuyler Van Rensselaer.</p> + +<p>To the <i>Independent</i> for "Blind," Harry Kemp; for "The Dusty +Hour-Glass," Amy Lowell; for "A Midsummer Garden," Clinton Scollard.</p> + +<p>To the <i>Los Angeles Graphic</i> for "A White Iris," Pauline B. Barrington.</p> + +<p>To <i>Lyric</i> for "July Midnight," Amy Lowell.</p> + +<p>To <i>Munsey's Magazine</i> for "A Puritan Lady's Garden," Sarah N. Cleghorn; +for "Spring Song," William Griffith; for "The Fountain," Harry Kemp.</p> + +<p>To <i>Mushrooms</i>, published by The John Marshall Company, for "Idealists," +Alfred Kreymborg.</p> + +<p>To <i>Others: A Magazine of New Verse</i> for "Reflections" ("Chinoiseries"), +Amy Lowell; for "Lord, I ask a Garden," R. Arevalo Martinez.</p> + +<p>To the <i>New York Sun</i> for "A Colonial Garden," James B. Kenyon.</p> + +<p>To the <i>New York Times</i> for "Grace for Gardens," Louise Driscoll; for +"The Welcome," Arthur Powell.</p> + +<p>To <i>Poetry: A Magazine of Verse</i> for "Spring Song," Hilda Conkling;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xvii" id="Page_xvii">[Pg xvii]</a></span> for +"A Lady of the Snows," Harriet Monroe; for "The Magnolia," José Santos +Chocano, translated by John Pierrepont Rice.</p> + +<p>To <i>Punch</i> for "Lavender," W. W. Blair Fish.</p> + +<p>To <i>St. Nicholas</i> for "Velvets," Hilda Conkling; for "When Swallows +Build," Catherine Parmenter.</p> + +<p>To <i>Scribner's Magazine</i> for "Her Garden," Louis Dodge; for "The Path +that leads to Nowhere," Corinne Roosevelt Robinson.</p> + +<p>To the <i>Touchstone</i> for "Dawn in my Garden," Marguerite Wilkinson.</p> + +<p>To the <i>Yale Review</i> and to Mr. Brian Hooker personally for "Ballade of +the Dreamland Rose" from <i>Poems</i>; also to the <i>Yale Review</i> for the +selection from "Earth," John Hall Wheelock.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Personal acknowledgment is also made to the following poets and +individual owners of copyrights:—</p> + +<p>To Miss Zoë Akins for "The Snow-Gardens."</p> + +<p>To Mr. William Stanley Braithwaite and to Mr. Fletcher personally for +"Spring," John Gould Fletcher, printed in the <i>Poetry Review</i>.</p> + +<p>To M. G. Brereton for "The Old Brocade" from <i>A Celtic Christmas</i>.</p> + +<p>To Miss Abbie Farwell Brown for "The Wall" in manuscript.</p> + +<p>To Mrs. Grace Hazard Conkling for "The Rose" in manuscript.</p> + +<p>To Mr. Miles M. Dawson for "The Thistle" from <i>Songs of the New Time</i>.</p> + +<p>To Violet Fane (Lady Curie) for "To a New Sun-Dial" from <i>Collected +Poems</i>.</p> + +<p>To Mrs. Mary McNeil Fenollosa for "Birth of the Flowers."</p> + +<p>To Mr. Arthur Guiterman for "Tulips" and "Columbines" in manuscript.</p> + +<p>To Miss Mary R. Jewett for "Flowers in the Dark," Sarah Orne Jewett, +from <i>Verses</i> (privately printed).</p> + +<p>To Rev. Arthur Ketchum for "The Spirit of the Birch" in manuscript.</p> + +<p>To Miss Hannah Parker Kimball for "Sun, Cardinal, and Corn Flowers" from +<i>Soul and Sense</i>.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xviii" id="Page_xviii">[Pg xviii]</a></span></p> + +<p>To Mr. William Lindsey for "Two Roses" from <i>Apples of Istakhar</i>.</p> + +<p>To Catherine Markham (Mrs. Edwin Markham) for "A Garden Friend."</p> + +<p>To Mr. Lloyd Mifflin for "Draw closer, O ye Trees" from <i>The Flying +Nymph, and Other Verse</i>.</p> + +<p>To Miss Angela Morgan for "The Awakening" in manuscript.</p> + +<p>To E. Nesbit (Mrs. Hubert Bland) for "Baby Seed Song."</p> + +<p>To Mr. Shaemas O Sheel for "While April Rain went by" from <i>The Light +Feet of Goats</i> (The Franklin Press).</p> + +<p>To Mr. Clinton Scollard for "The Crocus Flame," and "Sunflowers," from +<i>Ballads Patriotic and Romantic</i>; for "In the Garden-Close at Mezra" and +"In an Egyptian Garden" from <i>The Lutes of Morn</i>.</p> + +<p>To Mrs. Emily Selinger for "Over the Garden Wall."</p> + +<p>To Mrs. May Riley Smith for "Sorrow in a Garden" in manuscript.</p> + +<p>To the estate of Frank L. Stanton for "Sweetheart-Lady."</p> + +<p>To Mr. Charles Wharton Stork for "Boulders" in manuscript, and for +"Color Notes," printed in <i>Lippincott's Magazine</i>.</p> + +<p>To Mr. Charles Hanson Towne for "A White Rose."</p> + +<p>To Katharine Tynan (Mrs. Henry Albert Hinkson) for "The Choice," +published by Messrs. Sidgwick & Jackson in <i>The Poems of To-day</i>, an +anthology.</p> + +<p>To Mr. Frederic A. Whiting for his own poems "A Rose Lover" and "A +Wonder Garden" in manuscript and for "Kinfolk" by Kate Whiting Patch.</p> + +<p>To Mr. Clement Wood for "Rose-Geranium" from <i>Glad of Earth</i>.</p> + +<p>To Mr. Henry A. Wise Wood for "The Joy of a Summer Day."</p> + + +<div class="center">NOTE</div> + +<p>With very few exceptions only the poets who are writing to-day, or who +have written within a period of ten years, are represented in this +collection; and certain favorite poems peculiarly suited to the spirit +of this book which chanced to be included in <i>High Tide</i> may be missed +here. G. M. R.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xix" id="Page_xix">[Pg xix]</a></span></p> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + + +<div class="center">WITHIN GARDEN WALLS<br /><br /></div> + + +<div class="center"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents1"> +<tr><td align="left">Earth</td><td align="left"><i>John Hall Wheelock</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_2">2</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Furrow</td><td align="left"><i>Padraic Colum</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_3">3</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">"There is strength in the soil"</td><td align="left"><i>Arthur Stringer</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_4">4</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">In the Womb</td><td align="left">"<i>A. E.</i>"</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_4">4</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Putting in the Seed</td><td align="left"><i>Robert Frost</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_5">5</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Whisper of Earth</td><td align="left"><i>Edward J. O'Brien</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_6">6</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">"Within the garden there is healthfulness"</td><td align="left"><i>Emile Verhaeren</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_6">6</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">In a Garden</td><td align="left"><i>Horace Holley</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_7">7</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">A Shower</td><td align="left"><i>Rowland Thirlmere</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_8">8</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Rain</td><td align="left"><i>William H. Davies</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_9">9</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Dews</td><td align="left"><i>John B. Tabb</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_9">9</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Sonnet</td><td align="left"><i>John Masefield</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_10">10</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Charm: To be said in the Sun</td><td align="left"><i>Josephine Preston Peabody</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_11">11</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Dials</td><td align="left"><i>Arthur Wallace Peach</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_12">12</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">To a New Sundial</td><td align="left"><i>Violet Fane</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_13">13</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Fountain</td><td align="left"><i>Harry Kemp</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_14">14</a></td></tr> +</table><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class="center">THE PAGEANTRY OF GARDENS<br /><br /></div> + +<div class="center"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents2"> +<tr><td align="left">The Birth of the Flowers</td><td align="left"><i>Mary McNeil Fenollosa</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_18">18</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Welcome</td><td align="left"><i>Arthur Powell</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_19">19</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Joy of the Springtime</td><td align="left"><i>Sarojini Naidu</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_20">20</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Spring</td><td align="left"><i>John Gould Fletcher</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_20">20</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xx" id="Page_xx">[Pg xx]</a></span>Primavera</td><td align="left"><i>George Cabot Lodge</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_21">21</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Green o' the Spring</td><td align="left"><i>Denis A. McCarthy</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_22">22</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">An April Morning</td><td align="left"><i>Bliss Carman</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_23">23</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">"With memories and odors"</td><td align="left"><i>John Hall Wheelock</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_24">24</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">April Rain</td><td align="left"><i>Conrad Aiken</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_25">25</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">While April Rain went by</td><td align="left"><i>Shaemas O Sheel</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_25">25</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Spring</td><td align="left"><i>Francis Ledwidge</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_26">26</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">April Weather</td><td align="left"><i>Lizette Woodworth Reese</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_27">27</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Daffodils</td><td align="left"><i>Ruth Guthrie Harding</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_28">28</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Crocus Flame</td><td align="left"><i>Clinton Scollard</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_28">28</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Early Gods</td><td align="left"><i>Witter Bynner</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_30">30</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">A Tulip Garden</td><td align="left"><i>Amy Lowell</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_30">30</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Tulips</td><td align="left"><i>Arthur Guiterman</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_31">31</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">A White Iris</td><td align="left"><i>Pauline B. Barrington</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_32">32</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">May is building her House</td><td align="left"><i>Richard Le Gallienne</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_33">33</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Magnolia</td><td align="left"><i>José Santos Chocano</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_34">34</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">"Go down to Kew in lilac-time"</td><td align="left"><i>Alfred Noyes</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_35">35</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Beyond</td><td align="left"><i>Thomas S. Jones, Jr.</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_36">36</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">June</td><td align="left"><i>Douglas Malloch</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_36">36</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">June Rapture</td><td align="left"><i>Angela Morgan</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_37">37</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Columbines</td><td align="left"><i>Arthur Guiterman</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_39">39</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Morning-Glory</td><td align="left"><i>Florence Earle Coates</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_40">40</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Blossomy Barrow</td><td align="left"><i>T. A. Daly</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_40">40</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Larkspur</td><td align="left"><i>James Oppenheim</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_42">42</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The July Garden</td><td align="left"><i>Robert Ernest Vernède</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_43">43</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">"Mid-summer blooms within our quiet garden-ways"</td><td align="left"><i>Emile Verhaeren</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_44">44</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Poppies</td><td align="left"><i>John Russell Hayes</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_45">45</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Garden in August</td><td align="left"><i>Gertrude Huntington McGiffert</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_46">46</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxi" id="Page_xxi">[Pg xxi]</a></span>Sun, Cardinal, and Corn Flowers</td><td align="left"><i>Hannah Parker Kimball</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_48">48</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Sunflowers</td><td align="left"><i>Clinton Scollard</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_48">48</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The End of Summer</td><td align="left"><i>Edna St. Vincent Millay</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_49">49</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">A Late Walk</td><td align="left"><i>Robert Frost</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_50">50</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Color Notes</td><td align="left"><i>Charles Wharton Stork</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_50">50</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Golden Bowl</td><td align="left"><i>Mary McMillan</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_51">51</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Autumn Rose</td><td align="left"><i>Antoinette De Coursey Patterson</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_52">52</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Indian Summer</td><td align="left"><i>Sara Teasdale</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_53">53</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">"Frost to-night"</td><td align="left"><i>Edith M. Thomas</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_54">54</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">November Night</td><td align="left"><i>Adelaide Crapsey</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_55">55</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Snow-Gardens</td><td align="left"><i>Zoë Akins</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_55">55</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">A Song for Winter</td><td align="left"><i>Mrs. Schuyler Van Rensselaer</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_57">57</a></td></tr> +</table><br /><br /></div> + +<div class="center">WINGS AND SONG<br /><br /></div> + +<div class="center"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents3"> +<tr><td align="left">"I meant to do my work to-day"</td><td align="left"><i>Richard Le Gallienne</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_60">60</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Hummingbird</td><td align="left"><i>Hermann Hagedorn</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_61">61</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Spring Song</td><td align="left"><i>William Griffith</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_62">62</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Nightingales</td><td align="left"><i>Grace Hazard Conkling</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_63">63</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Goldfinch</td><td align="left"><i>Odell Shepard</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_63">63</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Kinfolk</td><td align="left"><i>Kate Whiting Patch</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_65">65</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">A Mocking-Bird</td><td align="left"><i>Witter Bynner</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_65">65</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Cardinal-Bird</td><td align="left"><i>Arthur Guiterman</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_66">66</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Yellow Warblers</td><td align="left"><i>Katharine Lee Bates</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_67">67</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Witchery</td><td align="left"><i>Frank Dempster Sherman</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_68">68</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Spring Beauties</td><td align="left"><i>Helen Gray Cone</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_68">68</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Mocking-Bird</td><td align="left"><i>Frank L. Stanton</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_69">69</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Messenger</td><td align="left"><i>James Stephens</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_71">71</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Fireflies</td><td align="left"><i>Antoinette De Coursey Patterson</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_72">72</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">July Midnight</td><td align="left"><i>Amy Lowell</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_72">72</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxii" id="Page_xxii">[Pg xxii]</a></span>The Cricket in the Path</td><td align="left"><i>Amelia Josephine Burr</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_73">73</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Rest at Noon</td><td align="left"><i>Hermann Hagedorn</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_74">74</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Order</td><td align="left"><i>Paul Scott Mowrer</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_75">75</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Night-Moth</td><td align="left"><i>Marion Couthouy Smith</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_75">75</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Butterfly</td><td align="left"><i>Edwin Markham</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_76">76</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Secret</td><td align="left"><i>Arthur Wallace Peach</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_77">77</a></td></tr> +</table><br /><br /></div> + +<div class="center">THE GARDENS OF YESTERDAY<br /><br /></div> + + +<div class="center"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents4"> +<tr><td align="left">The Garden</td><td align="left"><i>Gertrude Huntington McGiffert</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_80">80</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Old Homes</td><td align="left"><i>Madison Cawein</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_81">81</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">A Puritan Lady's Garden</td><td align="left"><i>Sarah N. Cleghorn</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_82">82</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Old-fashioned Garden</td><td align="left"><i>John Russell Hayes</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_83">83</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">A Colonial Garden</td><td align="left"><i>James B. Kenyon</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_86">86</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">In my Mother's Garden</td><td align="left"><i>Margaret Widdemer</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_87">87</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">To the Sweetwilliam</td><td align="left"><i>Norman Gale</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_88">88</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Rose-Geranium</td><td align="left"><i>Clement Wood</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_90">90</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Four O'Clocks</td><td align="left"><i>Julia C. R. Dorr</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_91">91</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Asking for Roses</td><td align="left"><i>Robert Frost</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_92">92</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Old Brocade</td><td align="left"><i>M. G. Brereton</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_93">93</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Stairways and Gardens</td><td align="left"><i>Ella Wheeler Wilcox</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_94">94</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Old Mothers</td><td align="left"><i>Charles Ross</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_95">95</a></td></tr> +</table><br /><br /></div> + +<div class="center">PASTURES AND HILLSIDES<br /><br /></div> + + +<div class="center"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents5"> +<tr><td align="left">Song from "April"</td><td align="left"><i>Irene Rutherford McLeod</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_98">98</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Road to the Pool</td><td align="left"><i>Grace Hazard Conkling</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_99">99</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Wild Rose</td><td align="left"><i>Charles Buxton Going</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_99">99</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Up a Hill and a Hill</td><td align="left"><i>Fannie Stearns Davis</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_100">100</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Joys of a Summer Morning</td><td align="left"><i>Henry A. Wise Wood</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_101">101</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">South Wind</td><td align="left"><i>Siegfried Sassoon</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_102">102</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxiii" id="Page_xxiii">[Pg xxiii]</a></span>To a Weed</td><td align="left"><i>Gertrude Hall</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_102">102</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Pasture</td><td align="left"><i>Robert Frost</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_104">104</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Thistle</td><td align="left"><i>Miles M. Dawson</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_104">104</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Clover</td><td align="left"><i>John B. Tabb</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_105">105</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Wild Gardens</td><td align="left"><i>Ada Foster Murray</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_106">106</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Dandelion</td><td align="left"><i>Vachel Lindsay</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_107">107</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Joe-Pyeweed</td><td align="left"><i>Louis Untermeyer</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_108">108</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">To a Daisy</td><td align="left"><i>Alice Meynell</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_109">109</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">A Soft Day</td><td align="left"><i>W. M. Letts</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_110">110</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Arbutus</td><td align="left"><i>Adelaide Crapsey</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_111">111</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Jewel-Weed</td><td align="left"><i>Florence Earle Coates</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_111">111</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Wall</td><td align="left"><i>Abbie Farwell Brown</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_112">112</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Boulders</td><td align="left"><i>Charles Wharton Stork</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_114">114</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Afternoon on a Hill</td><td align="left"><i>Edna St. Vincent Millay</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_115">115</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Golden-Rod</td><td align="left"><i>Margaret Deland</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_116">116</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Path that leads to Nowhere</td><td align="left"><i>Corinne Roosevelt Robinson</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_117">117</a></td></tr> +</table><br /><br /></div> + +<div class="center">LOVERS AND ROSES<br /><br /></div> + + +<div class="center"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents6"> +<tr><td align="left">The Message</td><td align="left"><i>George Edward Woodberry</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_120">120</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">"Where love is life"</td><td align="left"><i>Duncan Campbell Scott</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_121">121</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Time of Roses</td><td align="left"><i>Sarojini Naidu</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_122">122</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Love planted a Rose</td><td align="left"><i>Katharine Lee Bates</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_123">123</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Garden</td><td align="left"><i>Alice Meynell</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_123">123</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Cloud and Flower</td><td align="left"><i>Agnes Lee</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_124">124</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Progress</td><td align="left"><i>Charlotte Becker</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_125">125</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">"But we did walk in Eden"</td><td align="left"><i>Josephine Preston Peabody</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_125">125</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">A Garden-Piece</td><td align="left"><i>Edmund Gosse</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_126">126</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">"How many flowers are gently met"</td><td align="left"><i>George Sterling</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_127">127</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">With a Rose, to Brunhilde</td><td align="left"><i>Vachel Lindsay</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_127">127</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxiv" id="Page_xxiv">[Pg xxiv]</a></span>"My soul is like a garden-close"</td><td align="left"><i>Thomas S. Jones, Jr.</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_128">128</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">A Dream</td><td align="left"><i>Antoinette De Coursey Patterson</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_129">129</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Rose</td><td align="left"><i>Grace Hazard Conkling</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_130">130</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Prayer</td><td align="left"><i>John Hall Wheelock</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_130">130</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">In a Garden</td><td align="left"><i>Livingston L. Biddle</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_131">131</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">A Song of Fairies</td><td align="left"><i>Elizabeth Kirby</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_131">131</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">A Song to Belinda</td><td align="left"><i>Theodosia Garrison</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_132">132</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Sweetheart-Lady</td><td align="left"><i>Frank L. Stanton</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_133">133</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Heart's Garden</td><td align="left"><i>Norreys Jephson O'Conor</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_133">133</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">A Rose Lover</td><td align="left"><i>Frederic A. Whiting</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_134">134</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Sonnet</td><td align="left"><i>Elsa Barker</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_135">135</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">A Song in a Garden</td><td align="left"><i>Theodosia Garrison</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_135">135</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">"It was June in the garden"</td><td align="left"><i>Emile Verhaeren</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_136">136</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Two Roses</td><td align="left"><i>William Lindsey</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_138">138</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Roses</td><td align="left"><i>Wilfrid Wilson Gibson</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_138">138</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Her Garden</td><td align="left"><i>Louis Dodge</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_139">139</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Ære Perennius</td><td align="left"><i>Charles Hanson Towne</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_139">139</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Ever the Same</td><td align="left"><i>Josephine Preston Peabody</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_140">140</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Message</td><td align="left"><i>Helen Hay Whitney</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_141">141</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Tell-Tale</td><td align="left"><i>Oliver Herford</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_142">142</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Da Thief</td><td align="left"><i>T. A. Daly</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_143">143</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Results and Roses</td><td align="left"><i>Edgar A. Guest</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_145">145</a></td></tr> +</table><br /><br /></div> + +<div class="center">UNDERNEATH THE BOUGH<br /><br /></div> + + +<div class="center"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents7"> +<tr><td align="left">Miracle</td><td align="left"><i>L. H. Bailey</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_148">148</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Awakening</td><td align="left"><i>Angela Morgan</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_149">149</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Shade</td><td align="left"><i>Theodosia Garrison</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_150">150</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Selection from "Under the Trees"</td><td align="left"><i>Anna Hempstead Branch</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_151">151</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">A Garden Friend</td><td align="left"><i>Catherine Markham</i> (<i>Mrs. Edwin Markham</i>)</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_152">152</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxv" id="Page_xxv">[Pg xxv]</a></span>A Lady of the Snows</td><td align="left"><i>Harriet Monroe</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_153">153</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Tree</td><td align="left"><i>Evelyn Underhill</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_153">153</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">"Loveliest of trees"</td><td align="left"><i>A. E. Housman</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_155">155</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Spirit of the Birch</td><td align="left"><i>Arthur Ketchum</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_156">156</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Family Trees</td><td align="left"><i>Douglas Malloch</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_156">156</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Idealists</td><td align="left"><i>Alfred Kreymborg</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_158">158</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">"Draw closer, O ye trees"</td><td align="left"><i>Lloyd Mifflin</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_159">159</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Trees</td><td align="left"><i>Bliss Carman</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_160">160</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Trees</td><td align="left"><i>Samuel Valentine Cole</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_162">162</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Poplars</td><td align="left"><i>Theodosia Garrison</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_164">164</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Trees</td><td align="left"><i>Joyce Kilmer</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_165">165</a></td></tr> +</table><br /><br /></div> + +<div class="center">THE LOST GARDENS OF THE HEART<br /><br /></div> + + +<div class="center"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents8"> +<tr><td align="left">As in a Rose-Jar</td><td align="left"><i>Thomas S. Jones, Jr.</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_168">168</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">In an Old Garden</td><td align="left"><i>Madison Cawein</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_169">169</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Garden of Dreams</td><td align="left"><i>Bliss Carman</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_169">169</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Homesick</td><td align="left"><i>Julia C. R. Dorr</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_170">170</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Ways of Time</td><td align="left"><i>William H. Davies</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_172">172</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">A Midsummer Garden</td><td align="left"><i>Clinton Scollard</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_172">172</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The White Rose</td><td align="left"><i>Charles Hanson Towne</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_173">173</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">A Haunted Garden</td><td align="left"><i>Louis Untermeyer</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_174">174</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Dusty Hour-Glass</td><td align="left"><i>Amy Lowell</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_176">176</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Song of Wandering Aengus</td><td align="left"><i>W. B. Yeats</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_177">177</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Three Cherry Trees</td><td align="left"><i>Walter de la Mare</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_178">178</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Old Gardens</td><td align="left"><i>Arthur Upson</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_179">179</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Blooming of the Rose</td><td align="left"><i>Anna Hempstead Branch</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_179">179</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Garden of Mnemosyne</td><td align="left"><i>Rosamund Marriott Watson</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_181">181</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Ballade of the Dreamland Rose</td><td align="left"><i>Brian Hooker</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_181">181</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Flowers of June</td><td align="left"><i>James Terry White</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_183">183</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxvi" id="Page_xxvi">[Pg xxvi]</a></span>In Memory's Garden</td><td align="left"><i>Thomas Walsh</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_183">183</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Serenade</td><td align="left"><i>Marjorie L. C. Pickthall</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_184">184</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">"What heart but fears a fragrance?"</td><td align="left"><i>Martha Gilbert Dickinson Bianchi</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_185">185</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Years Afterward</td><td align="left"><i>Nancy Byrd Turner</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_186">186</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Autumnal</td><td align="left"><i>Richard Middleton</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_186">186</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">"Oh, tell me how my garden grows"</td><td align="left"><i>Mildred Howells</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_188">188</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Her Garden</td><td align="left"><i>Eldredge Denison</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_189">189</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Little Ghost</td><td align="left"><i>Edna St. Vincent Millay</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_190">190</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Roses in the Subway</td><td align="left"><i>Dana Burnet</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_191">191</a></td></tr> +</table><br /><br /></div> + +<div class="center">THE GARDEN OVER-SEAS<br /><br /></div> + + +<div class="center"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents9"> +<tr><td align="left">A Garden Prayer</td><td align="left"><i>Thomas Walsh</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_194">194</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">In the Garden-Close at Mezra</td><td align="left"><i>Clinton Scollard</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_195">195</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Cactus</td><td align="left"><i>Laurence Hope</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_195">195</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The White Peacock</td><td align="left"><i>William Sharp</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_196">196</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">At Isola Bella</td><td align="left"><i>Jessie B. Rittenhouse</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_198">198</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Fountain</td><td align="left"><i>Sara Teasdale</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_199">199</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Champa Flower</td><td align="left"><i>Rabindranath Tagore</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_200">200</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">In an Egyptian Garden</td><td align="left"><i>Clinton Scollard</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_201">201</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Evening in Old Japan</td><td align="left"><i>Antoinette De Coursey Patterson</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_202">202</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Reflections</td><td align="left"><i>Amy Lowell</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_203">203</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">In the Garden</td><td align="left"><i>Pai Ta-Shun</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_204">204</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Deserted Garden</td><td align="left"><i>Pai Ta-Shun</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_204">204</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">A Roman Garden</td><td align="left"><i>Florence Wilkinson Evans</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_205">205</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Como in April</td><td align="left"><i>Robert Underwood Johnson</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_207">207</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">An Exile's Garden</td><td align="left"><i>Sophie Jewett</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_207">207</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Cloister Garden at Certosa</td><td align="left"><i>Richard Burton</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_208">208</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">A Garden in Venice</td><td align="left"><i>Dorothy Frances Gurney</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_209">209</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxvii" id="Page_xxvii">[Pg xxvii]</a></span>In a Garden of Granada</td><td align="left"><i>Thomas Walsh</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_210">210</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Amiel's Garden</td><td align="left"><i>Gertrude Huntington McGiffert</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_211">211</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Eden-Hunger</td><td align="left"><i>William Watson</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_212">212</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Garden at Bemerton</td><td align="left"><i>Lizette Woodworth Reese</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_212">212</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">In an Oxford Garden</td><td align="left"><i>Arthur Upson</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_213">213</a></td></tr> +</table><br /><br /></div> + +<div class="center">THE HOMELY GARDEN<br /><br /></div> + + +<div class="center"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents10"> +<tr><td align="left">"Grandmother's gathering boneset"</td><td align="left"><i>Edith M. Thomas</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_216">216</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">A Breath of Mint</td><td align="left"><i>Grace Hazard Conkling</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_217">217</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">A Seller of Herbs</td><td align="left"><i>Lizette Woodworth Reese</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_218">218</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Lavender</td><td align="left"><i>W. W. Blair Fish</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_219">219</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Dawn in my Garden</td><td align="left"><i>Marguerite Wilkinson</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_221">221</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Proud Vegetables</td><td align="left"><i>Mary McNeil Fenollosa</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_221">221</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Choice</td><td align="left"><i>Katharine Tynan</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_223">223</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Thoughts fer the Discuraged Farmer</td><td align="left"><i>James Whitcomb Riley</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_225">225</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Grace for Gardens</td><td align="left"><i>Louise Driscoll</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_226">226</a></td></tr> +</table><br /><br /></div> + +<div class="center">SILVER BELLS AND COCKLE SHELLS<br /><br /></div> + + +<div class="center"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents11"> +<tr><td align="left">Planting</td><td align="left"><i>Robert Livingston</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_230">230</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Spring Patchwork</td><td align="left"><i>Abbie Farwell Brown</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_231">231</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Baby's Valentine</td><td align="left"><i>Laura E. Richards</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_232">232</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Baby Seed Song</td><td align="left"><i>E. Nesbit</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_234">234</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Rain in the Night</td><td align="left"><i>Amelia Josephine Burr</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_235">235</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">A Little Girl's Songs—I, Spring Song; II, Velvets (By a Bed of Pansies)</td><td align="left"><i>Hilda Conkling</i> (<i>six years old</i>)</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_236">236</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">When Swallows Build</td><td align="left"><i>Catherine Parmenter</i> (<i>eleven years old</i>)</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_238">238</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Spring Planting</td><td align="left"><i>Helen Hay Whitney</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_239">239</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">If I could dig like a Rabbit</td><td align="left"><i>Rose Strong Hubbell</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_239">239</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Little God</td><td align="left"><i>Katharine Howard</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_240">240</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxviii" id="Page_xxviii">[Pg xxviii]</a></span>Daisies</td><td align="left"><i>Frank Dempster Sherman</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_241">241</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Anxious Farmer</td><td align="left"><i>Burges Johnson</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_242">242</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Over the Garden Wall</td><td align="left"><i>Emily Selinger</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_243">243</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Flowerphone</td><td align="left"><i>Abbie Farwell Brown</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_244">244</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Faithless Flowers</td><td align="left"><i>Margaret Widdemer</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_245">245</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Flower-School</td><td align="left"><i>Rabindranath Tagore</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_246">246</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Iris Flowers</td><td align="left"><i>Mary McNeil Fenollosa</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_247">247</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">If I were a Fairy</td><td align="left"><i>Charles Buxton Going</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_249">249</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Fringed Gentians</td><td align="left"><i>Amy Lowell</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_250">250</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Scissors-Man</td><td align="left"><i>Grace Hazard Conkling</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_250">250</a></td></tr> +</table><br /><br /></div> + +<div class="center">THE GARDEN OF LIFE<br /><br /></div> + + +<div class="center"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents12"> +<tr><td align="left">God's Garden</td><td align="left"><i>Richard Burton</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_254">254</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">"The Lord God planted a garden"</td><td align="left"><i>Dorothy Frances Gurney</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_255">255</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Lilies</td><td align="left"><i>George E. Woodberry</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_255">255</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Barter</td><td align="left"><i>Sara Teasdale</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_256">256</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Sonnet</td><td align="left"><i>John Masefield</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_257">257</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Tilling</td><td align="left"><i>Cale Young Rice</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_258">258</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Safe</td><td align="left"><i>Robert Haven Schauffler</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_259">259</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Sorrow in a Garden</td><td align="left"><i>May Riley Smith</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_260">260</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Moth-Flowers</td><td align="left"><i>Jeanne Robert Foster</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_262">262</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Alchemy</td><td align="left"><i>Sara Teasdale</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_262">262</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Flowers in the Dark</td><td align="left"><i>Sarah Orne Jewett</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_263">263</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Welcome</td><td align="left"><i>John Curtis Underwood</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_264">264</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Child in the Garden</td><td align="left"><i>Henry van Dyke</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_265">265</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">A Wonder Garden</td><td align="left"><i>Frederic A. Whiting</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_266">266</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">From a Car-Window</td><td align="left"><i>Ruth Guthrie Harding</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_267">267</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Song of the Weary Traveller</td><td align="left"><i>Blanche Shoemaker Wagstaff</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_267">267</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Cobwebs</td><td align="left"><i>Louise Imogen Guiney</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_268">268</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxix" id="Page_xxix">[Pg xxix]</a></span>Blind</td><td align="left"><i>Harry Kemp</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_269">269</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Herb of Grace</td><td align="left"><i>Amelia Josephine Burr</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_270">270</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Before Mary of Magdala came</td><td align="left"><i>Edwin Markham</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_270">270</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Conscience</td><td align="left"><i>Margaret Steele Anderson</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_273">273</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Rosa Mystica</td><td align="left"><i>Katharine Tynan</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_273">273</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Mystery</td><td align="left"><i>Ralph Hodgson</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_275">275</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Rose</td><td align="left"><i>Angela Morgan</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_275">275</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">For These</td><td align="left"><i>Edward Thomas</i> (<i>Edward Eastaway</i>)</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_276">276</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Samuel Gardner</td><td align="left"><i>Edgar Lee Masters</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_277">277</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Seeds</td><td align="left"><i>John Oxenham</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_278">278</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">"Lord, I ask a Garden"</td><td align="left"><i>R. Arevalo Martinez</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_279">279</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">My Flower-Room</td><td align="left"><i>Ella Wheeler Wilcox</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_280">280</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">"Vestured and veiled with twilight"</td><td align="left"><i>Rosamund Marriott Watson</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_282">282</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Fruit Garden Path</td><td align="left"><i>Amy Lowell</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_283">283</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Wood Song</td><td align="left"><i>Sara Teasdale</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_284">284</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">A Prayer</td><td align="left"><i>Edwin Markham</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_284">284</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Philosopher's Garden</td><td align="left"><i>John Oxenham</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_285">285</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> </td><td align="left"> </td><td align="left"> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Index of Titles</td><td align="left"> </td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_287">287</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Index of Authors</td><td align="left"> </td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_297">297</a></td></tr> +</table></div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxx" id="Page_xxx">[Pg xxx]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> + + + +<h2> +WITHIN GARDEN WALLS</h2> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>EARTH</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0"><i>Grasshopper, your fairy song</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And my poem alike belong</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>To the deep and silent earth</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>From which all poetry has birth;</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>All we say and all we sing</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Is but as the murmuring</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Of that drowsy heart of hers</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>When from her deep dream she stirs:</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>If we sorrow, or rejoice,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>You and I are but her voice.</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0"><i>Deftly does the dust express</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>In mind her hidden loveliness,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And from her cool silence stream</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>The cricket's cry and Dante's dream:</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>For the earth that breeds the trees</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Breeds cities too, and symphonies,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Equally her beauty flows</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Into a savior or a rose.</i><br /></span> +</div> +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Even as the growing grass</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Up from the soil religions pass,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And the field that bears the rye</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Bears parables and prophecy.</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Out of the earth the poem grows</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Like the lily, or the rose;</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And all that man is or yet may be,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Is but herself in agony</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Toiling up the steep ascent</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Towards the complete accomplishment</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>When all dust shall be, the whole</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Universe, one conscious soul.</i><br /></span> +</div> +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Yea, and this my poem, too,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Is part of her as dust and dew,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Wherein herself she doth declare</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Through my lips, and say her prayer.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">John Hall Wheelock</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>THE FURROW</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Stride the hill, sower,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Up to the sky-ridge,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flinging the seed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Scattering, exultant!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mouthing great rhythms<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the long sea beats<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the wide shore, behind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ridge of the hillside.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Below in the darkness—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The slumber of mothers—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The cradles at rest—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fire-seed sleeping<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Deep in white ashes!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Give to darkness and sleep:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O sower, O seer!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Give me to the Earth.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the seed I would enter.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O! the growth thro' the silence<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From strength to new strength;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then the strong bursting forth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Against primal forces,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To laugh in the sunshine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To gladden the world!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Padraic Colum</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>"THERE IS STRENGTH IN THE SOIL"</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There is strength in the soil;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the earth there is laughter and youth.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There is solace and hope in the upturned loam.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lo, I shall plant my soul in it here like a seed!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And forth it shall come to me as a flower of song;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For I know it is good to get back to the earth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That is orderly, placid, all-patient!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It is good to know how quiet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And noncommittal it breathes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This ample and opulent bosom<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That must some day nurse us all!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Arthur Stringer</span></div> + + +<h3>IN THE WOMB</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Still rests the heavy share on the dark soil:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon the black mould thick the dew-damp lies:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The horse waits patient: from his lowly toil<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ploughboy to the morning lifts his eyes.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The unbudding hedgerows dark against day's fires<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Glitter with gold-lit crystals: on the rim<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Over the unregarding city's spires<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The lonely beauty shines alone for him.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And day by day the dawn or dark unfolds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And feeds with beauty eyes that cannot see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How in her womb the mighty mother moulds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The infant spirit for eternity.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +"A. E."<br /> +(<span class="smcap">George William Russell</span>)</div> + + +<h3>PUTTING IN THE SEED</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">You come to fetch me from my work to-night<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When supper's on the table, and we'll see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If I can leave off burying the white<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Soft petals fallen from the apple tree.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">(Soft petals, yes, but not so barren quite,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mingled with these, smooth bean and wrinkled pea;)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And go along with you ere you lose sight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of what you came for and become like me,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Slave to a springtime passion for the earth.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How Love burns through the Putting in the Seed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On through the watching for that early birth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When, just as the soil tarnishes with weed,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The sturdy seedling with arched body comes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shouldering its way and shedding the earth crumbs.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Robert Frost</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>THE WHISPER OF EARTH</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">In the misty hollow, shyly greening branches<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Soften to the south wind, bending to the rain.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the moistened earthland flutter little whispers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Breathing hidden beauty, innocent of stain.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Little plucking fingers tremble through the grasses,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Little silent voices sigh the dawn of spring,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Little burning earth-flames break the awful stillness,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Little crying wind-sounds come before the King.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Powers, dominations urge the budding of the crocus,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cherubim are singing in the moist cool stone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seraphim are calling through the channels of the lily,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">God has heard the earth-cry and journeys to His throne.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Edward J. O'Brien</span></div> + + +<h3>"WITHIN THE GARDEN THERE IS +HEALTHFULNESS"</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Within the garden there is healthfulness.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i4">Lavishly it gives it us<br /></span> +<span class="i4">In light that cleaves<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To every movement of its thousand hands<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of palms and leaves.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And the good shade where it accepts,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">After long journeyings,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Our steps,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Pours on the weary limb<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A force of life and sweetness like<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Its mosses dim.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">When the lake is playing with the wind and sun.<br /></span> +<span class="i4">It seems a crimson heart<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Within, all ardent, has begun<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To throb with the moving wave;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The gladiolus and the fervent rose,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which in their splendor move unshadowèd,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Upon their vital stems expose<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Their cups of gold and red.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Within the garden there is healthfulness.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Emile Verhaeren</span></div> + + +<h3>IN A GARDEN</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">I stood within a Garden during rain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Uncovering to the drops my lifted brow:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O joyous fancy, to imagine now<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I slip, with trees and clouds, the social chain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alone with nature, naught to lose or gain<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Nor even to become; no, just to be<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A moment's personal essence, wholly free<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From needs that mold the heart to forms of pain.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Arise, I cried, and celebrate the hour!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Acclaim serener gladness; if it fail,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">New courage, nobler vision, will survive<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That I have known my kinship to the flower,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My brotherhood with rain, and in this vale<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have been a moment's friend to all alive.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Horace Holley</span></div> + + +<h3>A SHOWER</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">You may have seen, when winds were high,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That hesitant buds would not unfold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In garden-borders chill and dry,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bright with the Easter-lilies' gold.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Then, suddenly, would come a shower—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The big breeze veering to the west—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And happier music filled the bower<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Above the thrush's hidden nest:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The elm-tree's inconspicuous bloom<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Vanished amidst her little leaves;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In box and bay a fragrant gloom<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Inspired the wren's recitatives:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> +<span class="i0">The woods assumed their delicate green<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And spoke in songs that brought you bliss:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ay, and your withered heart has been<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Quickened on such a day as this!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Rowland Thirlmere</span></div> + + +<h3>THE RAIN</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">I hear leaves drinking Rain;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">I hear rich leaves on top<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Giving the poor beneath<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Drop after drop;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis a sweet noise to hear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These green leaves drinking near.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">And when the Sun comes out,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">After this Rain shall stop,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A wondrous Light will fill<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Each dark, round drop;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I hope the Sun shines bright;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twill be a lovely sight.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">William H. Davies</span></div> + + +<h3>THE DEWS</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">We come and go, as the breezes blow,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">But whence or where<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hath ne'er been told in the legends old<br /></span> +<span class="i4">By the dreaming seer.<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> +<span class="i0">The welcome rain to the parching plain<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And the languid leaves,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The rattling hail on the burnished mail<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of the serried sheaves,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The silent snow on the wintry brow<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of the aged year,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wends each his way in the track of day<br /></span> +<span class="i4">From a clouded sphere:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But still as the fog in the dismal bog<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Where the shifting sheen<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the spectral lamp lights the marshes damp,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">With a flash unseen<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We drip through the night from the starlids bright,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">On the sleeping flowers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And deep in their breast is our perfumed rest<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Through the darkened hours:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But again with the day we are up and away<br /></span> +<span class="i4">With our stolen dyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To paint all the shrouds of the drifting clouds<br /></span> +<span class="i4">In the eastern skies.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">John B. Tabb</span></div> + + +<h3>SONNET</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">It may be so; but let the unknown be.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We, on this earth, are servants of the sun.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Out of the sun comes all the quick in me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His golden touch is life to everyone.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> +<span class="i0">His power it is that makes us spin through space,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His youth is April and his manhood bread,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beauty is but a looking on his face,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He clears the mind, he makes the roses red.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">What he may be, who knows? But we are his,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We roll through nothing round him, year by year,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The withering leaves upon a tree which is<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each with his greed, his little power, his fear.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">What we may be, who knows? But everyone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is dust on dust a servant of the sun.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">John Masefield</span></div> + + +<h3>CHARM: TO BE SAID IN THE SUN</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">I reach my arms up, to the sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And golden vine on vine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of sunlight showered wild and high,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Around my brows I twine.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">I wreathe, I wind it everywhere,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The burning radiancy<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of brightness that no eye may dare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To be the strength of me.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Come, redness of the crystalline,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Come green, come hither blue<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And violet—all alive within,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For I have need of you.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Come honey-hue and flush of gold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And through the pallor run,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With pulse on pulse of manifold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">New largess of the Sun!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">O steep the silence till it sing!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O glories from the height,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Come down, where I am garlanding<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With light, a child of light!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Josephine Preston Peabody</span></div> + + +<h3>THE DIALS</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">With fingers softer than the touch of death<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sundial writes the passing of the day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The hours unfolding slow to twilight gray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The gleaming moments vanish in a breath.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">But sunny hours alone the sundial names;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All unrecorded are the midnight spans<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And vain within the dusk the watcher scans<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The marble face; thereon no record flames.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">So on eternal dials that God may hold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And those more humble in the human heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No bitter deeds their passing hours impart;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Kind deeds alone are marked in fadeless gold!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Arthur Wallace Peach</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>TO A NEW SUNDIAL</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Oh, Sundial, you should not be young,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or fresh and fair, or spick and span!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">None should remember when began<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your tenure here, nor whence you sprung!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Like ancient cromlech notch'd and scarr'd,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I would have had you sadly tow'r<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Above this world of leaf and flower<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All ivy-tress'd and lichen-starr'd;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Ambassador of Time and Fate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In contrast stern to bud and bloom,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seeming half temple and half tomb,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wholly solemn and sedate;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Till, one with God's own works on earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The lake, the vale, the mountain-brow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We might have come to count you now<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose home was here before our birth.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">But lo! a priggish, upstart thing—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Set here to tell so old a truth—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How fleeting are our days of youth—<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>You</i>, that were only made last spring!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Go to!... What sermon can you preach,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, mushroom—mentor pert and new?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We are too old to learn of you<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What you are all too young to teach!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Yet, Sundial, you and I may swear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Eternal friendship, none the less,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For I'll respect your youthfulness<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If you'll forgive my silver hair!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Violet Fane</span></div> + + +<h3>THE FOUNTAIN</h3> + +<div class="cpoem2"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">I thought my garden finished. I beheld<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each bush bee-visited; a green charm quelled<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The louder winds to music; soft boughs made<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Patches of silver dusk and purple shade—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yet I felt a lack of something still.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">There was a little, sleepy-footed rill<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That lapsed among sun-burnished stones, where slept<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fish, rainbow-scaled, while dragon-flies, adept,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Balanced on bending grass.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i22">All perfect? No.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My garden lacked a fountain's upward flow.<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> +<span class="i0">I coaxed the brook's young Naiad to resign<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her meadow wildness, building her a shrine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of worship, where each ravished waif of air<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Might wanton in the brightness of her hair.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">So here my fountain flows, loved of the wind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To every vagrant, aimless gust inclined,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet constant ever to its source. It greets<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The face of morning, wavering windy sheets<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of woven silver; sheer it climbs the noon,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A shaft of bronze; and underneath the moon<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It sleeps in pearl and opal. In the storm<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It streams far out, a wild, gray, blowing form;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While on calm days it heaps above the lake,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pelting the dreaming lilies half awake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And pattering jewels on each wide, green frond,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Recurrent pyramids of diamond!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Harry Kemp</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span><br /></p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE PAGEANTRY OF GARDENS</h2> + +<h3>THE BIRTH OF THE FLOWERS</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0"><i>God spoke! and from the arid scene</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Sprang rich and verdant bowers,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Till all the earth was soft with green,—</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>He smiled; and there were flowers.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Mary McNeil Fenollosa</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>THE WELCOME</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">God spreads a carpet soft and green<br /></span> +<span class="i4">O'er which we pass;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A thick-piled mat of jeweled sheen—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And that is Grass.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Delightful music woos the ear;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The grass is stirred<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Down to the heart of every spear—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Ah, that's a Bird.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Clouds roll before a blue immense<br /></span> +<span class="i4">That stretches high<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lends the soul exalted sense—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">That scroll's a Sky.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Green rollers flaunt their sparkling crests;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Their jubilee<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Extols brave Captains and their quests—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And that is Sea.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">New-leaping grass, the feathery flute,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The sapphire ring,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sea's full-voiced, profound salute,—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Ah, this is Spring!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Arthur Powell</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>THE JOY OF THE SPRINGTIME</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Springtime, O Springtime, what is your essence,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The lilt of a bulbul, the laugh of a rose,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The dance of the dew on the wings of a moonbeam,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The voice of the zephyr that sings as he goes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The hope of a bride or the dream of a maiden<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Watching the petals of gladness unclose?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Springtime, O Springtime, what is your secret,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The bliss at the core of your magical mirth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That quickens the pulse of the morning to wonder<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hastens the seeds of all beauty to birth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That captures the heavens and conquers to blossom<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The roots of delight in the heart of the earth?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Sarojini Naidu</span></div> + + +<h3>SPRING</h3> + +<div class="cpoem2"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">At the first hour, it was as if one said, "Arise."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At the second hour, it was as if one said, "Go forth."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the winter constellations that are like patient ox-eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sank below the white horizon at the north.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">At the third hour, it was as if one said, "I thirst;"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At the fourth hour, all the earth was still:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then the clouds suddenly swung over, stooped, and burst;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the rain flooded valley, plain and hill.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> +<span class="i0">At the fifth hour, darkness took the throne;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At the sixth hour, the earth shook and the wind cried;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At the seventh hour, the hidden seed was sown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At the eighth hour, it gave up the ghost and died.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">At the ninth hour, they sealed up the tomb;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the earth was then silent for the space of three hours.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But at the twelfth hour, a single lily from the gloom<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shot forth, and was followed by a whole host of flowers.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">John Gould Fletcher</span></div> + + +<h3>PRIMAVERA</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Spirit immortal of mortality,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Imperishable faith, calm miracle<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of resurrection, truth no tongue can tell,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">No brain conceive,—now witnessed utterly<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In this new testament of earth and sea,—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To us thy gospel! Where the acorn fell<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The oak-tree springs: no seed is infidel!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Once more, O Wonder, flower and field and tree<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Reveal thy secret and significance!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And we, who share unutterable things<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And feel the foretaste of eternity,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Haply shall learn thy meaning and perchance<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Set free the soul to lift immortal wings<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And cross the frontiers of infinity.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">George Cabot Lodge</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>THE GREEN O' THE SPRING</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Sure, afther all the winther,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An' afther all the snow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis fine to see the sunshine,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Tis fine to feel its glow;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis fine to see the buds break<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On boughs that bare have been—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But best of all to Irish eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Tis grand to see the green!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Sure, afther all the winther,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An' afther all the snow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis fine to hear the brooks sing<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As on their way they go;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis fine to hear at mornin'<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The voice of robineen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But best of all to Irish eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Tis grand to see the green!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Sure, here in grim New England<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The spring is always slow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' every bit o' green grass<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is kilt wid frost and snow;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah, many a heart is weary<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The winther days, I ween<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But oh, the joy when springtime comes<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An' brings the blessed green!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Denis A. McCarthy</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>AN APRIL MORNING</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Once more in misted April<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The world is growing green.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Along the winding river<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The plumey willows lean.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Beyond the sweeping meadows<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The looming mountains rise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like battlements of dreamland<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Against the brooding skies.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">In every wooded valley<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The buds are breaking through,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As though the heart of all things<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No languor ever knew.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The golden-wings and bluebirds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Call to their heavenly choirs.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The pines are blued and drifted<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With smoke of brushwood fires.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">And in my sister's garden<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where little breezes run,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The golden daffodillies<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are blowing in the sun.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Bliss Carman</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>"WITH MEMORIES AND ODORS"</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">With memories and odors<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The wind is warm and mild;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The earth is like a mother<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where leaps the unborn child.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The grackles flock returning<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like rain-clouds from the south.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all the world lies yearning<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Toward summer, mouth to mouth.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">How soft the hills and hazy<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Seen through the open door!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The crocus shines, a virgin,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">White from the grassy floor.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The children whirl around in a ring,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And laugh and sing, and dance and sing:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But the blackbird whistles clear,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">O clear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"The Spring, the Spring!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">John Hall Wheelock</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>APRIL RAIN</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Fall, rain! You are the blood of coming blossom,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You shall be music in the young birds' throats,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You shall be breaking, soon, in silver notes;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A virgin laughter in the young earth's bosom.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, that I could with you reënter earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pass through her heart and come again to sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Out of her fertile dark to sing and run<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In loveliness and fragrance of new mirth!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fall, rain! Into the dust I go with you,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pierce the remaining snows with subtle fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Warming the frozen roots with soft desire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dreams of ascending leaves and flowers new.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I am no longer body,—I am blood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seeking for some new loveliness of shape;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dark loveliness that dreams of new escape,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sun-surrender of unclosing bud.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Take me, O Earth! and make me what you will;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I feel my heart with mingled music fill.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Conrad Aiken</span></div> + + +<h3>WHILE APRIL RAIN WENT BY</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Under a budding hedge I hid<br /></span> +<span class="i2">While April rain went by,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But little drops came slipping through,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fresh from a laughing sky:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> +<span class="i0">A-many little scurrying drops,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Laughing the song they sing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Soon found me where I sought to hide,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And pelted me with Spring.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">And I lay back and let them pelt,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And dreamt deliciously<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of lusty leaves and lady-blossoms<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And baby-buds I'd see<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">When April rain had laughed the land<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Out of its wintry way,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And coaxed all growing things to greet<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With gracious garb the May.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Shaemas O Sheel</span></div> + + +<h3>SPRING</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The dews drip roses on the meadows<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the meek daisies dot the sward.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Æolus whispers through the shadows,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Behold the handmaid of the Lord!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The golden news the skylark waketh<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And 'thwart the heavens his flight is curled;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Attend ye as the first note breaketh<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And chrism droppeth on the world.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> +<span class="i0">The velvet dusk still haunts the stream<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where Pan makes music light and gay.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The mountain mist hath caught a beam<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And slowly weeps itself away.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The young leaf bursts its chrysalis<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And gem-like hangs upon the bough,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the mad throstle sings in bliss<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er earth's rejuvenated brow.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="center"><span class="smcap">ENVOI</span></div> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Slowly fall, O golden sands,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Slowly fall and let me sing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wrapt in the ecstasy of youth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wild delights of Spring.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Francis Ledwidge</span></div> + + +<h3>APRIL WEATHER</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Oh, hush, my heart, and take thine ease,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For here is April weather!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The daffodils beneath the trees<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Are all a-row together.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The thrush is back with his old note;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The scarlet tulip blowing;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And white—ay, white as my love's throat—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The dogwood boughs are glowing.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> +<span class="i0">The lilac bush is sweet again;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Down every wind that passes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fly flakes from hedgerow and from lane;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The bees are in the grasses.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">And Grief goes out, and Joy comes in,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And Care is but a feather;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And every lad his love can win,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For here is April weather.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Lizette Woodworth Reese</span></div> + + +<h3>DAFFODILS</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">There flames the first gay daffodil<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where winter-long the snows have lain:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who buried Love, all spent and still?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There flames the first gay daffodil.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Go, Love's alive on yonder hill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yours for asking, joy and pain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There flames the first gay daffodil<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where winter-long the snows have lain!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Ruth Guthrie Harding</span></div> + + +<h3>THE CROCUS FLAME</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The Easter sunrise flung a bar of gold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er the awakening wold.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What was thine answer, O thou brooding earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What token of re-birth,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Of tender vernal mirth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou the long-prisoned in the bonds of cold?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Under the kindling panoply which God<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Spreads over tree and clod,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I looked far abroad.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Umber the sodden reaches seemed and seer<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As when the dying year,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With rime-white sandals shod,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Faltered and fell upon its frozen bier.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of some rathe quickening, some divine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Renascence not a sign!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">And yet, and yet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With touch of viol-chord, with mellow fret,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The lyric South amid the bough-tops stirred,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And one lone bird<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An unexpected jet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of song projected through the morning blue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As though some wondrous hidden thing it knew.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">And so I gathered heart, and cried again:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"O earth, make plain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At this matutinal hour,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The triumph and the power<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of life eternal over death and pain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Although it be but by some simple flower!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And then, with sudden light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was dowered my veilèd sight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I beheld in a sequestered place<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A slender crocus show its sun-bright face.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O miracle of Grace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Earth's Easter answer came,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The revelation of transfiguring Might,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In that small crocus flame!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Clinton Scollard</span></div> + + +<h3>THE EARLY GODS</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">It is the time of violets.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It is the very day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When in the shadow of the wood<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Spring shall have her say,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Remembering how the early gods<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Came up the violet way.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are there not violets<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And gods—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To-day?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Witter Bynner</span></div> + + +<h3>A TULIP GARDEN</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Guarded within the old red wall's embrace,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Marshalled like soldiers in gay company,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The tulips stand arrayed. Here infantry<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wheels out into the sunlight. What bold grace<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Sets off their tunics, white with crimson lace!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Here are platoons of gold-frocked cavalry,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With scarlet sabres tossing in the eye<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of purple batteries, every gun in place.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Forward they come, with flaunting colors spread,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With torches burning, stepping out in time<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To some quick, unheard march. Our ears are dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We cannot catch the tune. In pantomime<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Parades the army. With our utmost powers<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We hear the wind stream through a bed of flowers.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Amy Lowell</span></div> + + +<h3>TULIPS</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Brave little fellows in crimsons and yellows,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Coming while breezes of April are cold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Winter can't freeze you, he flies when he sees you<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thrusting your spears through the redolent mold.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Jolly Dutch flowers, rejoicing in showers,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Drink! ere the pageant of Spring passes by!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hold your carousals to Robin's espousals,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lifting rich cups for the wine of the sky!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Dignified urbans in glossy silk turbans,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Burgherlike blossoms of gardens and squares,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nodding so solemn by fountain and column,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What is the talk of your weighty affairs?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Pollen and honey (for such is your money),—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Gossip and freight of the chaffering bee,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Prospects of growing,—what colors are showing,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">News of rare tulips from over the sea?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Loitering near you, how often I hear you,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Just ere your petals at twilight are furled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Laugh through the grasses while Evelyn passes,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"There goes the loveliest flower in the world!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Arthur Guiterman</span></div> + + +<h3>A WHITE IRIS</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Tall and clothed in samite,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Chaste and pure,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In smooth armor,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your head held high<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In its helmet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of silver:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Jean D'Arc riding<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Among the sword blades!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Has Spring for you<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wrought visions,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As it did for her<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In a garden?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Pauline B. Barrington</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>MAY IS BUILDING HER HOUSE</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">May is building her house. With apple blooms<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She is roofing over the glimmering rooms;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the oak and the beech hath she builded its beams,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, spinning all day at her secret looms,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With arras of leaves each wind-swayed wall<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She pictureth over, and peopleth it all<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With echoes and dreams,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And singing of streams.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">May is building her house of petal and blade;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the roots of the oak is the flooring made,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With a carpet of mosses and lichen and clover,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Each small miracle over and over,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And tender, travelling green things strayed.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Her windows the morning and evening star,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And her rustling doorways, ever ajar<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With the coming and going<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of fair things blowing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The thresholds of the four winds are.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">May is building her house. From the dust of things<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She is making the songs and the flowers and the wings;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From October's tossed and trodden gold<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She is making the young year out of the old;<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> +<span class="i2">Yea! out of winter's flying sleet<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She is making all the summer sweet,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the brown leaves spurned of November's feet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She is changing back again to spring's.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Richard Le Gallienne</span></div> + + +<h3>THE MAGNOLIA</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Deep in the wood, of scent and song the daughter,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Perfect and bright is the magnolia born;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">White as a flake of foam upon still water,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">White as soft fleece upon rough brambles torn.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Hers is a cup a workman might have fashioned<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of Grecian marble in an age remote.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hers is a beauty perfect and impassioned,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As when a woman bares her rounded throat.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">There is a tale of how the moon, her lover,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Holds her enchanted by some magic spell;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Something about a dove that broods above her,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or dies within her breast—I cannot tell.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">I cannot say where I have heard the story,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Upon what poet's lips; but this I know:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her heart is like a pearl's, or like the glory<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of moonbeams frozen on the spotless snow.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">José Santos Chocano</span><br /> + +(<i>Translated by John Pierrepont Rice</i>)</div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>"GO DOWN TO KEW IN LILAC-TIME"</h3> + +<div class="cpoem2"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Go down to Kew in lilac-time, in lilac-time, in lilac-time;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Go down to Kew in lilac-time (it isn't far from London!)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And you shall wander hand in hand with love in summer's wonderland;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Go down to Kew in lilac-time (it isn't far from London!).<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The cherry-trees are seas of bloom and soft perfume and sweet perfume,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The cherry-trees are seas of bloom (and oh, so near to London!)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And there they say, when dawn is high and all the world's a blaze of sky<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The cuckoo, though he's very shy, will sing a song for London.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The Dorian nightingale is rare, and yet they say you'll hear him there<br /></span> +<span class="i2">At Kew, at Kew in lilac-time (and oh, so near to London!)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The linnet and the throstle, too, and after dark the long halloo<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And golden-eyed <i>tu-whit</i>, <i>tu-whoo</i> of owls that ogle London.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">For Noah hardly knew a bird of any kind that isn't heard<br /></span> +<span class="i2">At Kew, at Kew in lilac-time (and oh, so near to London!)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when the rose begins to pout and all the chestnut spires are out<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You'll hear the rest without a doubt, all chorussing for London:—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Come down to Kew in lilac-time, in lilac-time, in lilac-time;</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>Come down to Kew in lilac-time (it isn't far from London!)</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And you shall wander hand in hand with love in summer's wonderland;</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>Come down to Kew in lilac-time (it isn't far from London!).</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Alfred Noyes</span></div> + + +<h3>BEYOND</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">I wonder if the tides of Spring<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Will always bring me back again<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mute rapture at the simple thing<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of lilacs blowing in the rain.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">If so, my heart will ever be<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Above all fear, for I shall know<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There is a greater mystery<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beyond the time when lilacs blow.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Thomas S. Jones, Jr.</span></div> + + +<h3>JUNE</h3> + +<div class="cpoem2"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">I knew that you were coming, June, I knew that you were coming!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Among the alders by the stream I heard a partridge drumming;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I heard a partridge drumming, June, a welcome with his wings,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And felt a softness in the air half Summer's and half Spring's.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> +<span class="i0">I knew that you were nearing, June, I knew that you were nearing—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I saw it in the bursting buds of roses in the clearing;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The roses in the clearing, June, were blushing pink and red,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For they had heard upon the hills the echo of your tread.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">I knew that you were coming, June, I knew that you were coming,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For ev'ry warbler in the wood a song of joy was humming.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I know that you are here, June, I know that you are here—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fairy month, the merry month, the laughter of the year!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Douglas Malloch</span></div> + + +<h3>JUNE RAPTURE</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Green! What a world of green! My startled soul<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Panting for beauty long denied,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Leaps in a passion of high gratitude<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To meet the wild embraces of the wood;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rushes and flings itself upon the whole<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mad miracle of green, with senses wide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Clings to the glory, hugs and holds it fast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As one who finds a long-lost love at last.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Billows of green that break upon the sight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In bounteous crescendos of delight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wind-hurried verdure hastening up the hills<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To where the sun its highest rapture spills;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cascades of color tumbling down the height<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In golden gushes of delicious light—<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> +<span class="i0">God! Can I bear the beauty of this day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or shall I be swept utterly away?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Hush—here are deeps of green, where rapture stills,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sheathing itself in veils of amber dusk;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Breathing a silence suffocating, sweet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wherein a million hidden pulses beat.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Look! How the very air takes fire and thrills<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With hint of heaven pushing through her husk.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah, joy's not stopped! 'Tis only more intense,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here where Creation's ardors all condense;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here where I crush me to the radiant sod,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Close-folded to the very nerves of God.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">See now—I hold my heart against this tree.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The life that thrills its trembling leaves thrills me.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There's not a pleasure pulsing through its veins<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That does not sting me with ecstatic pains.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No twig or tracery, however fine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Can bear a tale of joy exceeding mine.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Praised be the gods that made my spirit mad;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Kept me aflame and raw to beauty's touch.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lashed me and scourged me with the whip of fate;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gave me so often agony for mate;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tore from my heart the things that make men glad—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Praised be the gods! If I at last, by such<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Relentless means may know the sacred bliss,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The anguished rapture of an hour like this.<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Smite me, O Life, and bruise me if thou must;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mock me and starve me with thy bitter crust,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But keep me thus aquiver and awake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Enamoured of my life for living's sake!<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>This were the tragedy</i>—that I should pass,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dull and indifferent through the glowing grass.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And this the reason I was born, I say—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That I might know the passion of this day!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Angela Morgan</span></div> + + +<h3>COLUMBINES</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i8">Late were we sleeping<br /></span> +<span class="i10">Deep in the mold,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Clasping and keeping<br /></span> +<span class="i10">Yesterday's gold—<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Hoardings of sunshine,<br /></span> +<span class="i10">Crimson and gold;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dreaming of light till our dream became<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Aureate bells and beakers of flame,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Splashed with the splendor of wine of flame.<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Raindrop awoke us;<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Zephyr bespoke us;<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Chick-a-dee called us,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Bobolink called us,—<br /></span> +<span class="i10">Then we came.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Arthur Guiterman</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>THE MORNING-GLORY</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Was it worth while to paint so fair<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thy every leaf—to vein with faultless art<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each petal, taking the boon light and air<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of summer so to heart?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">To bring thy beauty unto perfect flower,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then, like a passing fragrance or a smile,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Vanish away, beyond recovery's power—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Was it, frail bloom, worth while?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Thy silence answers: "Life was mine!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And I, who pass without regret or grief,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have cared the more to make my moment fine,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Because it was so brief.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">"In its first radiance I have seen<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The sun!—why tarry then till comes the night?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I go my way, content that I have been<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Part of the morning light!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Florence Earle Coates</span></div> + + +<h3>THE BLOSSOMY BARROW</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Antonio Sarto ees buildin' a wall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But maybe he nevva gon' feenish at all.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Eet sure wonta be<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Teell flower an' tree<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' all kinda growin' theengs sleep een da Fall.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> +<span class="i0">You see, deesa 'Tonio always ees want'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To leeve on a farm, so he buy wan las' mont'.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I s'posa som' day eet be verra nice place,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But shape dat he find eet een sure ees "deesgrace";<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Eet's busta so bad he must feexin' eet all,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' firs' theeng he starta for build ees da wall.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mysal' I go outa for see heem wan day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' dere I am catcha heem sweatin' away;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He's liftin' beeg stones from all parts of hees land<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' takin' dem up to da wall een hees hand!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I say to heem: "Tony, why don'ta you gat<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Som' leetla wheel-barrow for halp you weeth dat?"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"O! com' an' I show you w'at's matter," he said,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' so we go look at hees tools een da shed.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dere's fina beeg wheel-barrow dere on da floor,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But w'at do you s'pose? From een under da door,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Som' mornin'-glor' vines have creep eento da shed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' beautiful flower, all purpla an' red,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Smile out from da vina so pretty an' green<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dat tweest round da wheel an' da sides da machine.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I look at dees Tony an' say to heem: "Wal?"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' Tony he look back at me an' say: "Hal!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I no can bust up soocha beautiful theeng;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I work weeth my han's eef eet tak' me teell spreeng!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Antonio Sarto ees buildin' a wall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But maybe he nevva gon' feenish at all.<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> +<span class="i2">Eet sure wonta be<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Teell flower an' tree<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' all kinda growin' theengs sleep een da Fall.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">T. A. Daly</span></div> + + +<h3>LARKSPUR</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Blue morning and the beloved,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The hill-garden and I ...<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Blue morning and the beloved,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Leaning, laughing and plucking,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Plucking wet roses ...<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i2">(She among the roses,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I among the larkspur,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bob-white, warbler, meadowlark, bobolink,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Song, sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And still morning air.)<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">I snipped off a larkspur blossom of china-blue<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And held it,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A blossom against the sky ...<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">And heaven opened out<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In one small flower-face ...<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And the beloved,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Plucking roses, plucking roses, old-fashioned roses,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lifted her face<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With eyes of china-blue.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i2">(She among the roses,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I among the larkspur,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bee-hum, brown-mole, downy chick, humming-bird:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Light, dew,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And laughter of my love.)<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">James Oppenheim</span></div> + + +<h3>THE JULY GARDEN</h3> + +<div class="cpoem2"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">It's July in my garden; and steel-blue are the globe thistles<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And French grey the willows that bow to every breeze;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And deep in every currant bush a robber blackbird whistles<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"I'm picking, I'm picking, I'm picking these!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">So off I go to rout them, and find instead I'm gazing<br /></span> +<span class="i2">At clusters of delphiniums—the seed was small and brown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But these are spurs that fell from heaven and caught the most amazing<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Colours of the welkin's own as they came hustling down.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">And then some roses catch my eye, or may be some Sweet Williams<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or pink and white and purple peals of Canterbury bells<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Or pencilled Violas that peep between the three-leaved trilliums<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or red-hot pokers all aglow or poppies that cast spells—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">And while I stare at each in turn I quite forget or pardon<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The blackbirds—and the blackguards—that keep robbing me of pie;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For what do such things matter when I have so fair a garden<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And what is half so lovely as my garden in July?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Robert Ernest Vernède</span></div> + + +<h3>"MID-SUMMER BLOOMS WITHIN OUR QUIET +GARDEN-WAYS"</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Mid-summer blooms within our quiet garden-ways;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A golden peacock down the dusky alley strays;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Gay flower petals strew<br /></span> +<span class="i2">—Pearl, emerald and blue—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The curving slopes of fragrant summer grass;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The pools are clear as glass<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Between the white cups of the lily-flowers;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The currants are like jewelled fairy-bowers;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A dazzling insect worries the heart of a rose,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where a delicate fern a filmy shadow throws,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And airy as bubbles the thousands of bees<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Over the young grape-clusters swarm as they please.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The air is pearly, iridescent, pure;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These profound and radiant noons mature,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Unfolding even as odorous roses of clear light;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Familiar roads to distances invite<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like slow and graceful gestures, one by one<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bound for the pearly-hued horizon and the sun.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Surely the summer clothes, with all her arts,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No other garden with such grace and power;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And 'tis the poignant joy close-folded in our hearts<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That cries its life aloud from every flaming flower.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Emile Verhaeren</span></div> + + +<h3>POPPIES</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">O perfect flowers of sweet midsummer days,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The season's emblems ye,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As nodding lazily<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ye kiss to sleep each breeze that near you strays,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And soothe the tired gazer's sense<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With lulling surges of your softest somnolence.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Like fairy lamps ye light the garden bed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With tender ruby glow.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Not any flowers that blow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Can match the glory of your gleaming red;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Such sunny-warm and dreamy hue<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before ye lit your fires no garden ever knew.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Bright are the blossoms of the scarlet sage,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And bright the velvet vest<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> +<span class="i2">On the nasturtium's breast;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bright are the tulips when they reddest rage,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And bright the coreopsis' eye;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But none of all can with your brilliant beauty vie.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">O soft and slumberous flowers, we love you well;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Your glorious crimson tide<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The mossy walk beside<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Holds all the garden in its drowsy spell;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And walking there we gladly bless<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your queenly grace and all your languorous loveliness.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">John Russell Hayes</span></div> + + +<h3>THE GARDEN IN AUGUST</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">From corn-crib by the level pasture-lands<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To knoll where spruce and boulders hide the road<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I know it like a book, and when my heart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is waste and dry and hard and choked with weeds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I come here till it gently blooms again.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For gardens yield rich fruits that will outlast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The autumn and the winter of the soul,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Richest to him who toils with loving hands.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis delving thus we learn life's secrets told<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But to those favored few who dig for them.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Garden is an intimate and keeps<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In touch with us, yet hath its own high moods,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And doth impose them on the mind of man<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To shame his pettiness. So do I love<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its shimmering August mood keyed to the sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A harlequin of color, birds and bloom.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nasturtiums, zinnias, balsams, salvias blaze<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By vivid dahlias; tiger-lilies burn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In scarlet shadow of Jerusalem-cross;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beyond the queen-hydrangeas splendid rule<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Barbaric marigolds; chrysanthemums<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Outshine gladioli, and sunflowers flaunt<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their crests of gold beneath the giant gourds.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Within the arbor, script forgot, I muse,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While gorgeous hollyhocks sway to and fro<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To mark the silences, and butterflies<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flit in and out like some bright memory,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And blinding poppies kindle slow watch-fires<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before the golden altar of the sun.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">A spell lies on the Garden. Summer sits<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With finger on her lips as if she heard<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The steps of Autumn echo on the hill.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A hush lies on the Garden. Summer dreams<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of timid crocus thrust through drifted snow.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Gertrude Huntington McGiffert</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>SUN, CARDINAL, AND CORN FLOWERS</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Whence gets Earth her gold for thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O Sunflower?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her woven, yellow locks so fine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Must go to make that gold of thine.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">And whence thy red beside the stream,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O Cardinal-flower?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She pricks some vein lies near her heart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That thy rich, ruddy hue may start.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">And whence thy blue amid the corn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O Corn-flower?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her deep-blue eyes gleam out in glee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The glories of her work to see.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Hannah Parker Kimball</span></div> + + +<h3>SUNFLOWERS</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">My tall sunflowers love the sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Love the burning August noons<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the locust tunes its viol,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the cricket croons.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">When the purple night draws on,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With its planets hung on high,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the attared winds of slumber<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wander down the sky,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Still my sunflowers love the sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Keep their ward and watch and wait<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till the rosy key of morning<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Opes the eastern gate.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Then, when they have deeply quaffed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From the brimming cups of dew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You can hear their golden laughter<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All the garden through.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Clinton Scollard</span></div> + + +<h3>THE END OF SUMMER</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">When poppies in the garden bleed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And coreopsis goes to seed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And pansies, blossoming past their prime,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Grow small and smaller all the time,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When on the mown field, shrunk and dry,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Brown dock and purple thistle lie,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And smoke from forest fires at noon<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Can make the sun appear the moon,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When apple seeds, all white before,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Begin to darken in the core,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I know that summer, scarcely here,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is gone until another year.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Edna St. Vincent Millay</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>A LATE WALK</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">When I go up through the mowing field,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The headless aftermath,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Smooth-laid like thatch with the heavy dew,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Half closes the garden path.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">And when I come to the garden ground,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The whir of sober birds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Up from the tangle of the withered weeds<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is sadder than any words.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">A tree beside the wall stands bare,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But a leaf that lingered brown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Disturbed, I doubt not, by my thought,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Comes softly rustling down.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">I end not far from my going forth<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By picking the faded blue<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the last remaining aster flower<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To carry again to you.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Robert Frost</span></div> + + +<h3>COLOR NOTES</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The brown of fallen leaves,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The duller brown<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of withered moss<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stubble and bared sheaves,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And pale light filtering down<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fields across.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The gray of slender trees,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The softer gray<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of melting skies.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What sobering ecstasies<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One drinks on such a day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With chastened eyes!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Charles Wharton Stork</span></div> + + +<h3>THE GOLDEN BOWL</h3> + +<div class="cpoem2"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">I stand upon the broad and rounded summit<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of a high hill<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the full golden flood of an October day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nearing to twilight.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Below lie bouquets of woods, flat fields,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">White strings of roads winding like fairy tales into the distance,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All steeped in sapphire mist like the blue bloom of grapes.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nearby a scarlet creeper trails a fence,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nearer a hawthorn tree<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Drops its wee crimson apples into the lush green grass.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I stand with head thrown back,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seeing and breathing deep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My arms stretched out, in my two hands<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> +<span class="i0">I hold a golden bowl.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Luscious fruits fulfil the yellow lustre of its hollow sphere,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fruits like great gems,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A pear of russet topaz, a ruby peach,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A cluster of grapes—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Amethysts from the dewy cave of night—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A sapphire plum, a garnet apple, emerald nectarine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And on them lies a rose.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Oh, empty golden bowl I call my soul,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Filled now with the precious fruits of life and time,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Topped with the rosy spray of grace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A rose,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As though dropped to me from the sky above,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A crowning thing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Love,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I lift and hold you out,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An offering,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And close my eyes.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Mary McMillan</span></div> + + +<h3>THE AUTUMN ROSE</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">A Ghostly visitant, pale Autumn Rose,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Haunting my garden that you once loved well:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah, how you queened it ere the sweet June's close,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And blushed anew to hear the zephyrs tell<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Your loveliness was fairer than a dream!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But now your pride of beauty is all gone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And like some poor sad penitent you seem,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose drooping head but hides a visage wan<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wasted by the coldness of the world.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon your faint sweet breath is borne a sigh,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Within your petals lies a tear impearled;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I hear you to my garden say good-bye.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">A sudden wind—the pale rose-petals blow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hither and yon—or are they flakes of snow?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Antoinette De Coursey Patterson</span></div> + + +<h3>INDIAN SUMMER</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Lyric night of the lingering Indian Summer,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shadowy fields that are scentless but full of singing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Never a bird, but the passionless chant of insects,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ceaseless, insistent.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The grasshopper's horn, and far off, high in the maples<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wheel of a locust leisurely grinding the silence,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Under the moon waning and worn and broken,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Tired with summer.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Let me remember you, voices of little insects,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Weeds in the moonlight, fields that are tangled with asters,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let me remember you, soon will the winter be on us,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Snow-hushed and heartless.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Over my soul murmur your mute benediction,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While I gaze, oh fields that rest after harvest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As those who part look long in the eyes they lean to,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lest they forget them.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Sara Teasdale</span></div> + + +<h3>"FROST TO-NIGHT"</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Apple-green west and an orange bar,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the crystal eye of a lone, one star ...<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, "Child, take the shears and cut what you will.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Frost to-night—so clear and dead-still."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Then, I sally forth, half sad, half proud,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I come to the velvet, imperial crowd,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wine-red, the gold, the crimson, the pied,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The dahlias that reign by the garden-side.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The dahlias I might not touch till to-night!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A gleam of the shears in the fading light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I gathered them all,—the splendid throng,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And in one great sheaf I bore them along.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">In my garden of Life with its all-late flowers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I heed a Voice in the shrinking hours:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Frost to-night—so clear and dead-still ..."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Half sad, half proud, my arms I fill.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Edith M. Thomas</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>NOVEMBER NIGHT</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Listen ...<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With faint dry sound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like steps of passing ghosts,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The leaves, frost-crisp'd, break from the trees<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And fall.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Adelaide Crapsey</span></div> + + +<h3>THE SNOW-GARDENS</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Like an empty stage<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The gardens are empty and cold;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The marble terraces rise<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like vases that hold no flowers;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The lake is frozen, the fountain still;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The marble walls and the seats<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are useless and beautiful.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah, here<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the wind and the dusk and the snow are<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All is silent and white and sad!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why do I think of you?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why does your name remorselessly<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Strike through my heart?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why does my soul awaken and shudder?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why do I seem to hear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cries as lovely as music?<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Surely you never came<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Into these pale snow-gardens;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Surely you never stood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here in the twilight with me;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet here I have lingered and dreamed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of a face as subtle as music,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of golden hair, and of eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like a child's ...<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I have felt on my brow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your finger-tips, plaintive as music ...<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O Wonder of all wonders, O Love—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wrought of sweet sounds and of dreaming!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why do you not emerge<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the lilac pale petals of dusk,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And come to me here in the gardens<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the wind and the snow are?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Beauty and Peace are here—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And unceasing music—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a loneliness chill and wistful,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like the feeling of death.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Like a crystal lily a star<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Leans from its leaves of silver<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And gleams in the sky;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And golden and faint in the shadows<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You wait indistinctly,—<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Like a phantom lamp that appears<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the mirror of distance that hovers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By the window at twilight—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You have come—and we stand together,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With questioning eyes—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dreaming and cold and ghostly<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In an empty garden that seems<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like an empty stage.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Zoë Akins</span></div> + + +<h3>A SONG FOR WINTER</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Speak not of snow and cold and rime<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Now they prevail.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Would you have joy in winter-time,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Think of the pale<br /></span> +<span class="i0">New green that comes, of blossoming lilacs think,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Larkspur, and borders of the fringèd pink.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sing, if winter grants you heart to sing,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of summer and of spring.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Would you secure some happiness<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In frosty hours,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Trust to the eye external less<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Than to the powers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of inward sight that even now may show<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Opaline seas, blue hilltops, and the glow<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Of daybreak on the glades where thrushes sing<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In summer and in spring.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Gaze not on fettered lake and brook<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And sullen skies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But in your happy memory look<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where beauty lies<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As once it was, as it shall be again<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When sunshine floods the fields of blowing grain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sing, as must who would in winter sing,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of summer and of spring.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Mrs. Schuyler Van Rensselaer</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span></p> +<h2>WINGS AND SONG</h2> + +<h3>"I MEANT TO DO MY WORK TO-DAY"</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0"><i>I meant to do my work to-day—</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>But a brown bird sang in the apple-tree</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And a butterfly flitted across the field,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>And all the leaves were calling me.</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0"><i>And the wind went sighing over the land,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>Tossing the grasses to and fro,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And a rainbow held out its shining hand—</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>So what could I do but laugh and go?</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Richard Le Gallienne</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>THE HUMMINGBIRD</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Through tree-top and clover a-whirr and away!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hi! little rover, stop and stay.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Merry, absurd, excited wag—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lilliput-bird in Brobdingnag!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Wild and free as the wild thrush, and warier—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was ever a bee merrier, airier?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Wings folded so, a second or two—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was ever a crow more solemn than you?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">A-whirr again over the garden, away!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who calls, little rover, Bird or fay?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Agleam and aglow, incarnate bliss!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What do you know that we humans miss?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">In the lily's chalice, what rune, what spell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the rose's palace, what do they tell<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">(When the door you bob in, airily)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That they hush from the robin, hide from the bee?—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Fearing the crew of chatter and song,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And tell to you of the chantless tongue?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Chantless! Ah, yes. Is that the sting<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Masked in gay dress and whirring wing?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Faith! But a wing of such airy stuff!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What need to sing? Here's music enough.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">A-whirr, and over tree-top, and through!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hi! little rover, fair travel to you.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Sweet, absurd, excited wag—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lilliput-bird in Brobdingnag!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Hermann Hagedorn</span></div> + + +<h3>SPRING SONG</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Softly at dawn a whisper stole<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Down from the Green House on the Hill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Enchanting many a ghostly bole<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And wood song with the ancient thrill.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Gossiping on the countryside,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Spring and the wandering breezes say<br /></span> +<span class="i0">God has thrown heaven open wide<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And let the thrushes out to-day.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">William Griffith</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>NIGHTINGALES</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">At sunset my brown nightingales<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hidden and hushed all day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ring vespers, while the color pales<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And fades to twilight gray:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The little mellow bells they ring,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The little flutes they play,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are soft as though for practising<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The things they want to say.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It's when the dark has floated down<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To hide and guard and fold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I know their throats that look so brown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are really made of gold.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No music I have ever heard<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Can call as sweet as they!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I wonder if it <i>is</i> a bird<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That sings within the hidden tree,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or some shy angel calling me<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To follow far away?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Grace Hazard Conkling</span></div> + + +<h3>THE GOLDFINCH</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Down from the sky on a sudden he drops<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Into the mullein and juniper tops,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flushed from his bath in the midsummer shine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flooding the meadowland, drunk with the wine<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Spilled from the urns of the blue, like a bold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sky-buccaneer in his sable and gold.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Lightly he sways on the pendulous stem,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Vividly restless, a fluttering gem,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then with a flash of bewildering wings<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dazzles away up and down, and he sings<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Clear as a bell at each dip as he flies<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bounding along on the wave of the skies.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Sunlight and laughter, a wingèd desire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Motion and melody married to fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lighter than thistle-tuft borne on the wind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Frailer than violets, how shall we find<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Words that will match him, discover a name<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Meet for this marvel, this lyrical flame?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">How shall we fashion a rhythm to wing with him,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Find us a wonderful music to sing with him<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fine as his rapture is, free as the rollicking<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Song that the harlequin drops in his frolicking<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dance through the summer sky, singing so merrily<br /></span> +<span class="i0">High in the burning blue, winging so airily?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Odell Shepard</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>KINFOLK</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">O, we are Kinfolk, she and I,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The little mother-bird all brown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who broods above her nest on high,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And with her soft, bright eyes looks down<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To read the secret of my heart,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We two from all the world apart!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">She dreams there in her swaying nest;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I dream here 'neath my sheltering vine.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The same love stirs her feathered breast<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That makes my heart-throb seem divine.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We both dream 'neath the same kind sky,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The small brown mother-bird, and I.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Kate Whiting Patch</span></div> + + +<h3>A MOCKING-BIRD</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">An arrow, feathery, alive,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He darts and sings,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then with a sudden skimming dive<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of striped wings<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He finds a pine and, debonair,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Makes with his mate<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All birds that ever rested there<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Articulate.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> +<span class="i0">The whisper of a multitude<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of happy wings<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is round him, a returning brood,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Each time he sings.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though heaven be not for them or him<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet he is wise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And daily tiptoes on the rim<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of paradise.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Witter Bynner</span></div> + + +<h3>THE CARDINAL-BIRD</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Where snow-drifts are deepest he frolics along,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A flicker of crimson, a chirrup of song,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My Cardinal-Bird of the frost-powdered wing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Composing new lyrics to whistle in Spring.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">A plump little prelate, the park is his church;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The pulpit he loves is a cliff-sheltered birch;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And there, in his rubicund livery dressed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Arranging his feathers and ruffling his crest,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">He preaches, with most unconventional glee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A sermon addressed to the squirrels and me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Commending the wisdom of those that display<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The brightest of colors when heavens are gray.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Arthur Guiterman</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>YELLOW WARBLERS</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The first faint dawn was flushing up the skies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When, dreamland still bewildering mine eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I looked out to the oak that, winter-long,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A winter wild with war and woe and wrong,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beyond my casement had been void of song.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">And lo! with golden buds the twigs were set,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Live buds that warbled like a rivulet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath a veil of willows. Then I knew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Those tiny voices, clear as drops of dew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Those flying daffodils that fleck the blue,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Those sparkling visitants from myrtle isles—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wee pilgrims of the sun, that measured miles<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Innumerable over land and sea<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With wings of shining inches. Flakes of glee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They filled that dark old oak with jubilee,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Foretelling in delicious roundelays<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their dainty courtships on the dipping sprays,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How they should fashion nests, mate helping mate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of milkweed flax and fern-down delicate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To keep sky-tinted eggs inviolate.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Listening to those blithe notes, I slipped once more<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From lyric dawn through dreamland's open door,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And there was God, Eternal Life that sings<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Eternal joy, brooding all mortal things,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A nest of stars, beneath untroubled wings.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Katharine Lee Bates</span></div> + + +<h3>WITCHERY</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Out of the purple drifts,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From the shadow sea of night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On tides of musk a moth uplifts<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Its weary wings of white.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Is it a dream or ghost<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of a dream that comes to me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here in the twilight on the coast,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Blue cinctured by the sea?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Fashioned of foam and froth—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the dream is ended soon,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, lo, whence came the moon-white moth<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Comes now the moth-white moon!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Frank Dempster Sherman</span></div> + + +<h3>THE SPRING BEAUTIES</h3> + +<div class="cpoem2"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The Puritan Spring Beauties stood freshly clad for church;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A Thrush, white-breasted, o'er them sat singing on his perch.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Happy be! for fair are ye!" the gentle singer told them,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But presently a buff-coat Bee came booming up to scold them.<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> +<span class="i2">"Vanity, oh, vanity!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Young maids, beware of vanity!"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Grumbled out the buff-coat Bee,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Half parson-like, half soldierly.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The sweet-faced maidens trembled, with pretty, pinky blushes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Convinced that it was wicked to listen to the Thrushes;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when, that shady afternoon, I chanced that way to pass,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They hung their little bonnets down and looked into the grass.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All because the buff-coat Bee<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lectured them so solemnly:—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Vanity, oh, vanity!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Young maids, beware of vanity!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Helen Gray Cone</span></div> + + +<h3>THE MOCKING-BIRD</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">He didn't know much music<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When first he come along;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' all the birds went wonderin'<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Why he didn't sing a song.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">They primped their feathers in the sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An' sung their sweetest notes;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' music jest come on the run<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From all their purty throats!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> +<span class="i0">But still that bird was silent<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In summer time an' fall;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He jest set still and listened,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An' he wouldn't sing at all!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">But one night when them songsters<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Was tired out an' still,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' the wind sighed down the valley<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An' went creepin' up the hill;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">When the stars was all a-tremble<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the dreamin' fields o' blue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' the daisy in the darkness—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Felt the fallin' o' the dew,—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">There come a sound o' melody<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No mortal ever heard,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' all the birds seemed singin'<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From the throat o' one sweet bird!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Then the other birds went Mayin'<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In a land too fur to call;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For there warn't no use in stayin'<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When one bird could sing for all!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Frank L. Stanton</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>THE MESSENGER</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Bee! tell me whence do you come?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ten fields away, twenty perhaps,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have heard your hum.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">If you are from the north, you may<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have passed my mother's roof of straw<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon your way.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">If you came from the south you should<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have seen another cottage just<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Inside the wood.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">And should you go back that way, please<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Carry a message to the house<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Among the trees.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Say—I will wait her at the rock<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beside the stream, this very night<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At eight o'clock.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">And ask your queen when you get home<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To send my queen the present of<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A honey-comb.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">James Stephens</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>FIREFLIES</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Fireflies, Fireflies, little glinting creatures,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Making night lovely with a rain of gold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Born of the moonbeams, children all unearthly,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ah how you vanish from a look too bold!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Fireflies, Fireflies, lovely as our dreams are,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sewn with such fancies from the years gone by,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wayward, elusive, as the playful zephyrs,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hiding mid grasses, gleaming in the sky.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Fireflies, Fireflies, like unto the silent<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Brown nuns who gather for the dead to pray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As theirs your mission; holy, too, your tapers,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Souls of dead flowers lighting on their way.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Antoinette De Coursey Patterson</span></div> + + +<h3>JULY MIDNIGHT</h3> + +<div class="cpoem2"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Fireflies flicker in the tops of trees,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flicker in the lower branches,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Skim along the ground.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Over the moon-white lilies<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is a flashing and ceasing of small, lemon-green stars.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As you lean against me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Moon-white,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> +<span class="i0">The air all about you<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is slit, and pricked, and pointed with sparkles of lemon-green flame<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Starting out of a background of great vague trees.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Amy Lowell</span></div> + + +<h3>THE CRICKET IN THE PATH</h3> + +<div class="cpoem2"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">She passed through the shadowy garden, so tall and so white,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her eyes on the stars and her face like an angel's upturned,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And it seemed to my thought that the dusk round her head with the light<br /></span> +<span class="i14">Of an aureole burned.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">But where she had trodden unseeing, I found on the path<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A cricket, so frail that her light foot had maimed it, yet strong<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To valiantly pipe, tiny hero, a faint aftermath<br /></span> +<span class="i14">Of its yesterday song.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">And I whispered, "Alas, Little Brother, why must it befall<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That the passing of angels but cripples and leaves us to die?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Poor imp of the greensward, God trumpets me clear in thy call;<br /></span> +<span class="i14">Thou art braver than I.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">"The Bright Ones of Heaven have trodden me down as they passed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I crawl in their footsteps a trampled and impotent thing.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I know not the reason, nor question henceforth. To the last,<br /></span> +<span class="i14">While I live, I will sing."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Amelia Josephine Burr</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>REST AT NOON</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Now with a re-created mind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Back to the world my way I find;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Fed by the hills one little hour,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By meadow-slope and beechen-bower,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Cedar serene, benignant larch,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hoar mountains and the azure arch<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Where dazzling vapors make vast sport<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In God's profound and spacious court.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The universe played with me. Earth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Harped to high heaven her sweetest mirth;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The clouds built castles for my pleasure,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And airy legions without measure<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Flung, spindrift-wise, across the sky<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To thrill my heart once and to die.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">I have held converse with large things;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For cherubim with cooling wings<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Brushed me, and gay stars, hid from view,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Called through the arras of the blue<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And clapped their hands: "These veils uproll!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And see the comrades of your soul!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The very flowers that ringed my bed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their little "God-be-with-you" said,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">And every insect, bird and bee<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Brought cool cups from eternity.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Hermann Hagedorn</span></div> + + +<h3>ORDER</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">It is half-past eight on the blossomy bush:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The petals are spread for a sunning;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The little gold fly is scrubbing his face;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The spider is nervously running<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To fasten a thread; the night-going moth<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is folding his velvet perfection;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And presently over the clover will come<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The bee on a tour of inspection.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Paul Scott Mowrer</span></div> + + +<h3>THE NIGHT-MOTH</h3> + +<div class="cpoem2"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">My night-moth, my white moth, out of the fragrant dark<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blowing in and growing like a dim star-spark,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So swift in the shifting of your elfin wings,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So slight in your lighting, as a flower that clings,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> +<span class="i0">As a boat to ride the dew, with sheer up-bearing sails,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pulsing and breathing, rocked with delicate gales,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You gleam as a dream, by my window's light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My white moth, my bright moth, my wandering wraith of night.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">From the velvet screening of a great gray cloud<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The moon floats swiftly, white and open-browed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flooding cloud and water with her shining trail,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till the night shrinks, sighing, behind the radiant veil;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The night, with her shy soul, to the deep wood slips—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her shy soul, her high soul, shrine of all the stars;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And you fly, like the sigh from her tender lips,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Athwart the wavering shadows, beating the silver bars;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You fleet in the meeting of the dark and bright,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My light moth, my white moth, spark from the soul of night.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Marion Couthouy Smith</span></div> + + +<h3>THE BUTTERFLY</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">O winged brother on the harebell, stay—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Was God's hand very pitiful, the hand<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That wrought thy beauty at a dream's demand?<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Yes, knowing I love so well the flowery way,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>He did not fling me to the world astray—</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>He did not drop me to the weary sand,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>But bore me gently to a leafy land:</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Tinting my wings, He gave me to the day.</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, chide no more my doubting, my despair!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I will go back now to the world of men.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Farewell, I leave thee to the world of air,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet thou hast girded up my heart again;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For He that framed the impenetrable plan,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And keeps His word with thee, will keep with man.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Edwin Markham</span></div> + + +<h3>THE SECRET</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">O, little bird, you sing<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if all months were June;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pray tell me ere you go<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The secret of your tune?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">"I have no hidden word<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To tell, nor mystic art;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I only know I sing<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The song within my heart!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Arthur Wallace Peach</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span><br /></p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span></p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE GARDENS OF YESTERDAY</h2> + +<h3>THE GARDEN</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0"><i>Old gardens have a language of their own,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And mine sweet speech to linger in the heart.</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>A goodly place it is and primly spaced,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>With straight box-bordered paths and squares of bloom.</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Bay-trees by rows of antique urns tell tales</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Of one who loved the gardens Dante loved.</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Magnolias edge the placid lily-pool</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And flank the sagging seat, whence vista leads</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>To blaze of rhododendrons banked in green.</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Azaleas by the scarlet quince flame up</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Against the lustrous grape-vines trellised high</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>To pigeon-cote and old brick wall where hide</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>First snowdrops and the bravest violets.</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>A place of solitudes whose silences</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Enfold the heart as an unquiet bird.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Gertrude Huntington McGiffert</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>OLD HOMES</h3> + +<div class="cpoem2"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Old homes among the hills! I love their gardens;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their old rock fences, that our day inherits;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their doors, round which the great trees stand like wardens;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their paths, down which the shadows march like spirits;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Broad doors and paths that reach bird-haunted gardens.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">I see them gray among their ancient acres,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Severe of front, their gables lichen-sprinkled,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like gentle-hearted, solitary Quakers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Grave and religious, with kind faces wrinkled,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Serene among their memory-hallowed acres.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Their gardens, banked with roses and with lilies—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Those sweet aristocrats of all the flowers—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where Springtime mints her gold in daffodillies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Autumn coins her marigolds in showers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all the hours are toilless as the lilies.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">I love their orchards where the gay woodpecker<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flits, flashing o'er you, like a wingèd jewel;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their woods, whose floors of moss the squirrels checker<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With half-hulled nuts; and where, in cool renewal,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wild brooks laugh, and raps the red woodpecker.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Old homes! Old hearts! Upon my soul forever<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their peace and gladness lie like tears and laughter;<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Like love they touch me, through the years that sever,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With simple faith; like friendship, draw me after<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The dreamy patience that is theirs forever.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Madison Cawein</span></div> + + +<h3>A PURITAN LADY'S GARDEN</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i2">This fairy pleasance in the brake—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">This maze run wild of flower and vine—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Our fathers planted for the sake<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of eyes that longed for English gardens<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Amid the virgin wastes of pine.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i2">Here, by the broken, moldering wall,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Where still the tiger-lilies ride,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Once grew the crown imperial,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The tall blue larkspur, white Queen Margaret,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Prince's-feather, and mourning bride.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i2">Beyond their pale, a humbler throng,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Grew Bouncing Bet and columbine;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The mountain fringe ran all along<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The thick-set hedge of cinnamon roses,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And overhung the eglantine.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i2">And Sunday flowers were here as well—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Adam-and-Eve within their hood,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> +<span class="i2">The stately Canterbury bell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, oft in churches breathing fragrance,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The sweet and pungent southernwood.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i2">When ships for England cleared the bay,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">If long beside these reefs of foam<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She stood, and watched them sail away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It was her garden first enticed her<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To turn, and call this country "home."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Sarah N. Cleghorn</span></div> + + +<h3>THE OLD-FASHIONED GARDEN</h3> + +<div class="cpoem2"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Among the meadows of the countryside,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From city noise and tumult far away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where clover-blossoms spread their fragrance wide<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And birds are warbling all the sunny day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There is a spot which lovingly I prize,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For there a fair and sweet old-fashioned country garden lies.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The gray old mansion down beside the lane<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Stands knee-deep in the fields that lie around<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And scent the air with hay and ripening grain.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Behind the manse box-hedges mark the bound<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And close the garden in, or nearly close,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For on beyond the hollyhocks an olden orchard grows.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> +<span class="i0">So bright and lovely is the dear old place,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It seems as though the country's very heart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were centered here, and that its antique grace<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Must ever hold it from the world apart.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Immured it lies among the meadows deep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its flowery stillness beautiful and calm as softest sleep.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The morning-glories ripple o'er the hedge<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And fleck its greenness with their tinted foam;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sweet wilding things, up to the garden's edge<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They love to wander from their meadow home,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To take what little pleasure here they may<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere all their silken trumpets close before the warm midday.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The larkspur lifts on high its azure spires,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And up the arbor's lattices are rolled<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The quaint nasturtium's many-colored fires;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The tall carnation's breast of faded gold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is striped with many a faintly-flushing streak,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pale as the tender tints that blush upon a baby's cheek.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The old sweet-rocket sheds its fine perfumes,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With golden stars the coreopsis flames,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And here are scores of sweet old-fashioned blooms,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dear for the very fragrance of their names,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Poppies and gilly flowers and four-o'clocks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cowslips and candytuft and heliotrope and hollyhocks,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Harebells and peonies and dragon-head,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Petunias, scarlet sage and bergamot,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Verbenas, ragged-robins, soft gold-thread,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The bright primrose and pale forget-me-not,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wall-flowers and crocuses and columbines,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Narcissus, asters, hyacinths, and honeysuckle vines.<br /></span> +</div> +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">A sweet seclusion this of sun and shade,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A calm asylum from the busy world,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where greed and restless care do ne'er invade,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor news of 'change and mart each morning hurled<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Round half the globe; no noise of party feud<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Disturbs this peaceful spot nor mars its perfect quietude.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">But summer after summer comes and goes<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And leaves the garden ever fresh and fair;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">May brings the tulip, golden June the rose,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And August winds shake down the mellow pear.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Man blooms and blossoms, fades and disappears,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But scarce a tribute pays the garden to the passing years.<br /></span> +</div> +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Sweet is the odor of the warm, soft rain<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In violet-days when spring opes her green heart;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sweet the apple trees along the lane<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whose lovely blossoms all too soon depart;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sweet the brimming dew that overfills<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The golden chalices of all the trembling daffodils.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> +<span class="i0">But sweeter far, in this old garden-close<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To loiter 'mid the lovely old-time flowers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To breathe the scent of lavender and rose,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And with old poets pass the peaceful hours.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Old gardens and old poets,—happy he<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose quiet summer days are spent in such sweet company!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">John Russell Hayes</span></div> + + +<h3>A COLONIAL GARDEN</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Down this pathway, through the shade,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lightly tripped the dainty maid,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In her eyes the smile of June,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On her lips some old sweet tune.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through yon ragged rows of box,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By that awkward clump of phlox,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To her favorite pansy bed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like a ray of light, she sped.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Satin slippers trim and neat<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gleamed upon her slender feet;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Round her ankles, deftly tied,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ribbons crossed from side to side,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here her pinks, old fashioned, fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Breathed their fragrance on the air;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There her fluttering azure gown<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shook the poppy's petals down.<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Here a rose, with fond caress,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stooped to touch a truant tress<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From her fillet struggling free,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Scorning its captivity.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There a bed of rue was set<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With an edge of mignonette,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the spicy bergamot<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Meshed the frail forget-me-not.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Honeysuckles, hollyhocks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bachelor's buttons, four-o'clocks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Marigolds and blue-eyed grass<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Curtsied when the maid did pass.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now the braggart weeds have spread<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through the paths she loved to tread,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the creeping moss has grown<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er yon shattered dial-stone.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still beside the ruined walks<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some old flowers, on sturdy stalks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dream of her whose happy eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Roam the fields of paradise.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">James B. Kenyon</span></div> + + +<h3>IN MY MOTHER'S GARDEN</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">There were many flowers in my mother's garden,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sword-leaved gladiolas, taller far than I,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sticky-leaved petunias, pink and purple flaring,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Velvet-painted pansies smiling at the sky;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Scentless portulacas crowded down the borders,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">White and scarlet-petalled, rose and satin-gold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Clustered sweet alyssum, lacy-white and scented,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sprays of gray-green lavender to keep 'til you were old.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">In my mother's garden were green-leaved hiding-places,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nooks between the lilacs—oh, a pleasant place to play!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still my heart can hide there, still my eyes can dream it,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though the long years lie between and I am far away;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">When the world is hard now, when the city's clanging<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tires my eyes and tires my heart and dust lies everywhere,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I can dream the peace still of the soft wind's blowing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I can be a child still and hide my heart from care.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Lord, if still that garden blossoms in the sunlight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Grant that children laugh there now among its green and gold—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Grant that little hearts still hide its memoried sweetness,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Locking one bright dream away for light when they are old!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Margaret Widdemer</span></div> + + +<h3>TO THE SWEETWILLIAM</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">I search the poet's honied lines,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And not in vain, for columbines;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And not in vain for other flowers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That sanctify the many bowers<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Unsanctified by human souls.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">See where the larkspur lifts among<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The thousand blossoms finely sung,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still blossoming in the fragrant scrolls!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Charity, eglantine, and rue<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And love-in-a-mist are all in view,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With coloured cousins; but where are you,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Sweetwilliam?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The lily and the rose have books<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Devoted to their lovely looks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wit has fallen in vital showers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through England's most miraculous hours<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To keep them fresh a thousand years.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The immortal library can show<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The violet's well-thumbed folio<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stained tenderly by girls in tears.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The shelf where Genius stands in view<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Has brier and daffodil and rue<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And love-lies-bleeding; but not you,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Sweetwilliam.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Thus, if I seek the classic line<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For marybuds, 'tis, Shakespeare, thine!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ever is the primrose born<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Neath Goldsmith's overhanging thorn.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In Herrick's breastknot I can see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The apple-blossom, fresh and fair<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> +<span class="i0">As when he plucked and put it there,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heedless of Time's anthology.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So flower by flower comes into view<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Kept fadeless by the Olympian dew<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For startled eyes; and yet not you,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Sweetwilliam.<br /></span> +</div> +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Though gods of song have let you be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bloom in my little book for me.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unwont to stoop or lean, you show<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An undefeated heart, and grow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As pluckily as cedars. Heat<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And cold, and winds that make<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tumbledown sallies, cannot shake<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your resolution to be sweet.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then take this song, be it born to die<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ere yet the unwedded butterfly<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Has glimpsed a darling in the sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Sweetwilliam!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Norman Gale</span></div> + + +<h3>ROSE-GERANIUM</h3> + +<div class="cpoem2"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">A pungent spray of rose-geranium—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A breath of the old life.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">It brings up the little five-room cottage where I was born,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And where I grew through a smiling childhood.<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> +<span class="i0">The white-bearded grandfather sits in his mended rocking-chair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His eyes far off, crooning "The Sweet By and By,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Marked with the tapping of his toe upon the weathered porch-floor,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While the sunshine drizzles through the great oaks.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">And there is my grandmother's kneeling figure,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Turning over the rich black earth with her trowel;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the kind wrinkles on her face, as she says:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Didn't the pansies do finely this year, Clem?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the scarlet verbenas, and the larkspurs,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the row of flaming salvia....<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Those roses ... they're Maréchal Niels ... my favorites.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And little grandson, smell this spray of rose-geranium—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Just think, when grandmother was a little tiny girl<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her grandmother grew them in her yard!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Clement Wood</span></div> + + +<h3>FOUR O'CLOCKS</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">It is mid-afternoon. Long, long ago<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Each morning-glory sheathed the slender horn<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It blew so gayly on the hills of morn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And fainted in the noontide's fervid glow.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Gone are the dew-drops from the rose's heart—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Gone with the freshness of the early hours,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The songs that filled the air with silver showers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The lovely dreams that were of morn a part.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Yet still in tender light the garden lies;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The warm, sweet winds are whispering soft and low;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Brown bees and butterflies flit to and fro;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The peace of heaven is in the o'erarching skies.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">And here be four-o'clocks, just opening wide<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Their many colored petals to the sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As glad to live as if the evening dun<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were far away, and morning had not died!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Julia C. R. Dorr</span></div> + + +<h3>ASKING FOR ROSES</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">A house that lacks, seemingly, mistress and master,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With doors that none but the wind ever closes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its floor all littered with glass and with plaster;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It stands in a garden of old-fashioned roses.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">I pass by that way in the gloaming with Mary;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"I wonder," I say, "who the owner of those is."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Oh, no one you know," she answers me airy,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"But one we must ask if we want any roses."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">So we must join hands in the dew coming coldly<br /></span> +<span class="i2">There in the hush of the wood that reposes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And turn and go up to the open door boldly,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And knock to the echoes as beggars for roses.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> +<span class="i0">"Pray, are you within there, Mistress Who-were-you?"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Tis Mary that speaks and our errand discloses.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Pray are you within there? Bestir you, bestir you!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Tis summer again; there's two come for roses.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">"A word with you, that of the singer recalling—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Old Herrick: a saying that every man knows is<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A flower unplucked is but left to the falling,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And nothing is gained by not gathering roses."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">We do not loosen our hands' intertwining<br /></span> +<span class="i2">(Not caring so very much what she supposes),<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There when she comes on us mistily shining<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And grants us by silence the boon of her roses.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Robert Frost</span></div> + + +<h3>THE OLD BROCADE</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">In a black oak chest all carven,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We found it laid,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still faintly sweet of Lavender,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An old brocade.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With that perfume came a vision,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A garden fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Enclosed by great yew hedges;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A Lady there,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is culling fresh blown lavender,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And singing goes<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Up and down the alleys green—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A human rose.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sun glints on her auburn hair<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And brightens, too,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The silver buckles that adorn<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Each little shoe.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her 'kerchief and her elbow sleeves<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Are cobweb lace;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her gown, it is our old brocade,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Worn with a grace.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Methinks I hear its soft frou-frou,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And see the sheen<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of its dainty pink moss-rose buds,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Their leaves soft green,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On a ground of palest shell pink,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In garlands laid;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But long dead the Rose who wore it—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The old brocade.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">M. G. Brereton</span></div> + + +<h3>STAIRWAYS AND GARDENS</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Gardens and Stairways; those are words that thrill me<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Always with vague suggestions of delight.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stairways and Gardens. Mystery and grace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seem part of their environment; they fill all space<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With memories of things veiled from my sight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In some far place.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Gardens. The word is overcharged with meaning;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It speaks of moonlight, and a closing door;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of birds at dawn—of sultry afternoons.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gardens. I seem to see low branches screening<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A vine-roofed arbor with a leaf-tiled floor<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where sunlight swoons.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Stairways. The word winds upward to a landing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then curves and vanishes in space above.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lights fall, lights rise; soft lights that meet and blend.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stairways; and some one at the bottom standing<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Expectantly with lifted looks of love.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then steps descend.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Gardens and Stairways. They belong with song—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With subtle scents of perfume, myrrh and musk—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With dawn and dusk—with youth, romance, and mystery,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And times that were and times that are to be.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stairways and Gardens.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Ella Wheeler Wilcox</span></div> + + +<h3>OLD MOTHERS</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">I love old mothers—mothers with white hair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And kindly eyes, and lips grown softly sweet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With murmured blessings over sleeping babes.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There is a something in their quiet grace<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> +<span class="i0">That speaks the calm of Sabbath afternoons;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A knowledge in their deep, unfaltering eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That far outreaches all philosophy.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Time, with caressing touch, about them weaves<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The silver-threaded fairy-shawl of age,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While all the echoes of forgotten songs<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seem joined to lend a sweetness to their speech.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Old mothers!—as they pace with slow-timed step,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their trembling hands cling gently to youth's strength;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sweet mothers!—as they pass, one sees again<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Old garden-walks, old roses, and old loves.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Charles Ross</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span></p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span></p> + +<h2>PASTURES AND HILLSIDES</h2> + + +<h3>SONG FROM "APRIL"</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0"><i>I know</i><br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>Where the wind flowers blow!</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>I know,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>I have been</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Where the wild honey bees</i><br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>Gather honey for their queen!</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0"><i>I would be</i><br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>A wild flower,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Blue sky over me,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>For an hour ... an hour!</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>So the wild bees</i><br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>Should seek and discover me,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And kiss me ... kiss me ... kiss me!</i><br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>Not one of the dusky dears should miss me!</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0"><i>I know</i><br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>Where the wind flowers blow!</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>I know,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>I have been</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Where the little rabbits run</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>In the warm, yellow sun!</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0"><i>Oh, to be a wild flower</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>For an hour ... an hour ...</i><br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>In the heather!</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>A bright flower, a wild flower,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>Blown by the weather!</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0"><i>I know,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>I have been</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Where the wild honey bees</i><br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>Gather Honey for their queen!</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Irene Rutherford McLeod</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>THE ROAD TO THE POOL</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">I know a road that leads from town,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A pale road in a Watteau gown<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of wild-rose sprays, that runs away<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All fragrant-sandaled, slim and gray.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">It slips along the laurel grove<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And down the hill, intent to rove,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And crooks an arm of shadow cool<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Around a willow-silvered pool.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">I never travel very far<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beyond the pool where willows are:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There is a shy and native grace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That hovers all about the place,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">And resting there I hardly know<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Just where it was I meant to go,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Contented like the road that dozes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In panniered gown of briar roses.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Grace Hazard Conkling</span></div> + + +<h3>THE WILD ROSE</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Summer has crossed the fields, and where she trod<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Violets bloom; the dancing wind-flowers nod,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And daisies blossom all across the sod.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> +<span class="i0">She passed the brook, and in their glad surprise<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The first forget-me-nots smiled at the skies<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And caught the very color of her eyes.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">But, sleeping in the meadow-land, she pressed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The dear wild rose so closely to her breast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It stole her heart—and so she loves it best.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Charles Buxton Going</span></div> + + +<h3>UP A HILL AND A HILL</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Up a hill and a hill there's a sudden orchard-slope,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And a little tawny field in the sun;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There's a gray wall that coils like a twist of frayed-out rope,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And grasses nodding news one to one.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Up a hill and a hill there's a windy place to stand,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And between the apple-boughs to find the blue<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the sleepy summer sea, past the cliffs of orange sand,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With the white charmèd ships sliding through.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Up a hill and a hill there's a little house as gray<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As a stone that the glaciers scored and stained;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With a red rose by the door, and a tangled garden-way,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And a face at the window, checker-paned.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> +<span class="i0">I could climb, I could climb, till the shoes fell off my feet,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Just to find that tawny field above the sea!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Up a hill and a hill,—oh, the honeysuckle's sweet!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the eyes at the window watch for me!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Fannie Stearns Davis</span></div> + + +<h3>THE JOYS OF A SUMMER MORNING</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The smell of the morning that lurks in the hay,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The swish of the scythe<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And the roundelay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the meadow-lark as he wings away,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Are the joys of a summer morning.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The daisy's bloom on the meadow's breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The wandering bee<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And his ceaseless quest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the tempting sweets in the clover's crest,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Are the joys of a summer morning.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The lowing kine on a distant hill,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The rollicking fall<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of the near-by rill<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the lazy drone of the ancient mill,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Are the joys of a summer morning.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> +<span class="i0">The feathery clouds in a faultless sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The new-risen sun<br /></span> +<span class="i4">With its kindly eye<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the woodland breezes floating by,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Are the joys of a summer morning.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Henry A. Wise Wood</span></div> + + +<h3>SOUTH WIND</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Where have you been, South Wind, this May-day morning,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With larks aloft, or skimming with the swallow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or with blackbirds in a green, sun-glinted thicket?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Oh, I heard you like a tyrant in the valley;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your ruffian hosts shook the young, blossoming orchards;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You clapped rude hands, hallooing round the chimney,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And white your pennons streamed along the river.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">You have robbed the bee, South Wind, in your adventure,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blustering with gentle flowers; but I forgave you<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When you stole to me shyly with scent of hawthorn.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Siegfried Sassoon</span></div> + + +<h3>TO A WEED</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">You bold thing! thrusting 'neath the very nose<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of her fastidious majesty, the rose,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Even in the best ordainèd garden bed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unauthorized, your smiling little head!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> +<span class="i0">The gardener, mind! will come in his big boots,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And drag you up by your rebellious roots,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And cast you forth to shrivel in the sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your daring quelled, your little weed's life done.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">And when the noon cools, and the sun drops low,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He'll come again with his big wheelbarrow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And trundle you—I don't know clearly where,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But off, outside the dew, the light, the air.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Meantime—ah, yes! the air is very blue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And gold the light, and diamond the dew,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You laugh and courtesy in your worthless way,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And you are gay, ah, so exceeding gay!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">You argue in your manner of a weed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You did not make yourself grow from a seed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You fancy you've a claim to standing-room,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You dream yourself a right to breathe and bloom.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The sun loves you, you think, just as the rose,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He never scorned you for a weed,—he knows!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The green-gold flies rest on you and are glad,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It's only cross old gardeners find you bad.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">You know, you weed, I quite agree with you,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I am a weed myself, and I laugh too,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Both, just as long as we can shun his eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let's sniff at the old gardener trudging by!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Gertrude Hall</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>THE PASTURE</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">I'm going out to clean the pasture spring;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'll only stop to rake the leaves away<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(And wait to watch the water clear, I may):<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I sha'n't be gone long.—You come too.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">I'm going out to fetch the little calf<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That's standing by the mother. It's so young,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It totters when she licks it with her tongue.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I sha'n't be gone long.—You come too.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Robert Frost</span></div> + + +<h3>THE THISTLE</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Ha, prickle-armèd knight,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">How oft the world hath cursed thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou pestilence of Earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The beldame who hath nursed thee!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Hath hellish Proserpine<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her needs lent to arm thee<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That mischief-loving gods,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Pricked sorely, may not harm thee?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Or hath the mirthful Love<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Presented thee his pinions<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To dress thy tiny seeds,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The curse of man's dominions!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Thou like a maiden art<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who best can find protection<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Employed at needlework<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From idleness' infection.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">And like a prude thou art<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When he who loves embraces;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou dost repel with thorns<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And she with sharper phrases.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">And like the wraith thou art<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wherewith my heart is haunted;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ye both take most delight<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where ye the least are wanted.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Miles M. Dawson</span></div> + + +<h3>CLOVER</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Little masters, hat in hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let me in your presence stand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till your silence solve for me<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This your threefold mystery.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Tell me—for I long to know—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How, in darkness there below,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was your fairy fabric spun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Spread and fashioned, three in one.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Did your gossips gold and blue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sky and Sunshine, choose for you,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere your triple forms were seen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Suited liveries of green?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Can ye—if ye dwelt indeed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Captives of a prison seed—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like the Genie, once again<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Get you back into the grain?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Little masters, may I stand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In your presence, hat in hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Waiting till you solve for me<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This your threefold mystery?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">John B. Tabb</span></div> + + +<h3>WILD GARDENS</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">On the ripened grass is a bloomy mist<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of silver and rose and amethyst<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where the long June wave has run.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">There are glints of copper and tarnished brass,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hyacinthine flames that pass<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From the green fires of the sun.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">This web of a thousand gleams and glows<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was woven silently out of the snows<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the patient shine and rain.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> +<span class="i0">It was fashioned cunningly day by day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the silken spear to the pollened spray<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With its folded sheaths of grain.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Oh, garden of grasses deep and wild,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So dear to the vagrant and the child<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the singer of an hour.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">To the wayworn soul you give your balm,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your cup of peace, your stringèd psalm,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Your grace of bud and flower.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Ada Foster Murray</span></div> + + +<h3>THE DANDELION</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">O dandelion, rich and haughty,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">King of village flowers!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each day is coronation time,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You have no humble hours.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I like to see you bring a troop<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To beat the blue-grass spears,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To scorn the lawn-mower that would be<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like fate's triumphant shears.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your yellow heads are cut away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It seems your reign is o'er.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By noon you raise a sea of stars<br /></span> +<span class="i0">More golden than before.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Vachel Lindsay</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>JOE-PYEWEED</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">And the name brings back those kindly hills<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the drowsing life so new to me;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the welcome that those purple blossoms<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With their tiny trumpets blew to me.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Stout and tall, they raised their clustered heads,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Leaping, as a lusty fellow would,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through the lowlands, down the twisting cow-paths;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Running past the green and yellow wood.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">How they come again—those rambling roads;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the weeds' wild jewels glowing there.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Richer than a Paradise of flowers<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Was that bit of pasture growing there.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Weeds—the very names call up those faint<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Half-forgotten smells and cries again ...<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Weeds—like some old charm, I say them over,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the rolling Berkshires rise again:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0"><i>Basil, Boneset, Toadflax, Tansy,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Weeds of every form and fancy;</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Milk-weed, Mullein, Loose-strife, Jewel-weed,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Mustard, Thimble-weed, Tear-thumb (a cruel weed).</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Clovers in all sorts—Nonesuch, Melilot;</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Staring Buttercups, a bold and yellow lot.</i><br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Daisies rioting about the place</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>With Black-eyed Susan and Queen Anne's Lace....</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Names—they blossom into colored hills;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hills whose rousing beauty flows to me ...<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And with all its soundless, purple trumpets,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lo, the Joe-Pyeweed still blows to me!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Louis Untermeyer</span></div> + + +<h3>TO A DAISY</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Slight as thou art, thou art enough to hide<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like all created things, secrets from me,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And stand a barrier to eternity.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I, how can I praise thee well and wide<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">From where I dwell—upon the hither side?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thou little veil for so great mystery,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When shall I penetrate all things and thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And then look back? For this I must abide,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Till thou shalt grow and fold and be unfurled<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Literally between me and the world.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then I shall drink from in beneath a spring,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">And from a poet's side shall read his book.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O daisy mine, what will it be to look<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From God's side even of such a simple thing?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Alice Meynell</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>A SOFT DAY</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i4">A soft day, thank God!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">A wind from the south<br /></span> +<span class="i4">With a honeyed mouth;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">A scent of drenching leaves,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Briar and beech and lime,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">White elder-flower and thyme<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the soaking grass smells sweet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Crushed by my two bare feet,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">While the rain drips,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Drips, drips, drips from the eaves.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i4">A soft day, thank God!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The hills wear a shroud<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of silver cloud;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The web the spider weaves<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Is a glittering net;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The woodland path is wet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the soaking earth smells sweet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Under my two bare feet,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And the rain drips,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Drips, drips, drips from the eaves.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">W. M. Letts</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>ARBUTUS</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Not Spring's<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou art, but hers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Most cool, most virginal,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Winter's, with thy faint breath, thy snows<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rose-tinged.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Adelaide Crapsey</span></div> + + +<h3>JEWEL-WEED</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Thou lonely, dew-wet mountain road,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Traversed by toiling feet each day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What rare enchantment maketh thee<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Appear so gay?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Thy sentinels, on either hand<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Rise tamarack, birch, and balsam-fir,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er the familiar shrubs that greet<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The wayfarer;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">But here's a magic cometh new—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A joy to gladden thee, indeed:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This passionate out-flowering of<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The jewel-weed,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">That now, when days are growing drear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As Summer dreams that she is old,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hangs out a myriad pleasure-bells<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of mottled gold!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Thine only, these, thou lonely road!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though hands that take, and naught restore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rob thee of other treasured things,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thine these are, for<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">A fairy, cradled in each bloom,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To all who pass the charmèd spot<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whispers in warning: "Friend, admire,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But touch me not!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">"Leave me to blossom where I sprung,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A joy untarnished shall I seem;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pluck me, and you dispel the charm<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And blur the dream!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Florence Earle Coates</span></div> + + +<h3>THE WALL</h3> + +<div class="center">"<i>Something there is that doesn't like a wall.</i>" (<span class="smcap">Robert Frost</span>)</div> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">"Not like a wall?"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I sit above the meadow in the glowing fall<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Tracing the grey redoubt from square to square<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which bound the acres harvest-ripe and fair,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wonder if it's true?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nay, ask the sumac and the teeming vine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That lean upon the boulders,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The crimsoning ivy and the wild woodbine<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Whose eager fingers clutch the stony shoulders,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The golden rod, the aster and the rue.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ask the red squirrel with the chubby cheek<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Skipping from stone to stone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By a quick route, his hidden hoard to seek,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Making the little viaduct his own.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Look where the woodchuck lifts a cautious head<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Between the rocks close by the cabbage bed;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The honey-bees have built a secret hive<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In a forgotten chink;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And there a grey cocoon is tucked away<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shrouding a miracle in mauve and pink<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To wait its Easter day.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The wall with pageantry is all alive!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">And I who gaze<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On the dark border here,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Drawn like a ribbon round the pasture-ways,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Embroidered with the glory of the year,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Do I not like the wall?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lo, I remember how in days of old<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My grandsire toiled with weariness and pain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To dig the cumbering boulders from the mould;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Piled them in ordered rows again,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fitting them firm and fast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A monument to last<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Long after his own harried day was past.<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> +<span class="i2">He cleared the rocky soil for corn and grain<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By which his children throve<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To carry on the race.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We live by his life-giving.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I see each stone, rough like his granite face,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Uncompromising, stern, no slave to love,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dowered with little grace,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Grim with the hard, unjoyful task of living,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But strong to stand the wrath of storm and time,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And bolts that heaven let fall.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Built of a patriot's prime,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I love the wall!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Abbie Farwell Brown</span></div> + + +<h3>BOULDERS</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">There is a look of wisdom in yon stones,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Great boulders basking in the noonday heat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their grimness lightened by a fringe of sweet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fresh fern or moss or green-gray lichen tones.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While through the glade an insect army drones<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And birds from neighboring boughs their notes repeat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These patriarchs, drowsing as in bliss complete,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rest on the flowery sward their tranquil bones.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">A thousand or ten thousand years ago,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shattered by frost, or by the torrent's might,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> +<span class="i0">These boulders hurtled from some toppling height<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And crashed through forests to the plain below.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now, reconciled to Nature's gentler mood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They lie on lowly earth and find it good.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Charles Wharton Stork</span></div> + + +<h3>AFTERNOON ON A HILL</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">I will be the gladdest thing<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Under the sun;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I will touch a hundred flowers<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And not pick one;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">I will look at cliffs and clouds<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With quiet eyes;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Watch the wind bow down the grass,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the grass rise;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">And when lights begin to show<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Up from the town,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I will mark which must be mine,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And then start down.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Edna St. Vincent Millay</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>THE GOLDEN-ROD</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">O Rod of gold!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O swaying sceptre of the year—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Now frost and cold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Show Winter near,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And shivering leaves grow brown and sere.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The bleak hillside,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And marshy waste of yellow reeds,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And meadows wide<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where frosted weeds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shake on the damp wind light-winged seeds,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Are decked with thee,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The lingering Summer's latest grace,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And sovereignty.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each wind-swept space<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Waves thy red gold in Winter's face—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He strives each star,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In stormy pride to lay full low;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But when thy bar<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Resists his blow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Will crown thee with a puff of snow!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Margaret Deland</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>THE PATH THAT LEADS TO NOWHERE</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">There's a path that leads to nowhere<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In a meadow that I know,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where an inland island rises<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the stream is still and slow;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There it wanders under willows<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And beneath the silver green<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the birches' silent shadows<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where the early violets lean.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Other pathways lead to Somewhere,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But the one I love so well<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had no end and no beginning—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Just the beauty of the dell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Just the windflowers and the lilies,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yellow striped as adder's tongue<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seem to satisfy my pathway<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As it winds their sweets among.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">There I go to meet the Spring-time,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When the meadow is aglow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Marigolds amid the marshes,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the stream is still and slow.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There I find my fair oasis,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And with care-free feet I tread<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the pathway leads to nowhere,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the blue is overhead!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> +<span class="i0">All the ways that lead to Somewhere<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Echo with the hurrying feet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the Struggling and the Striving,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But the way I find so sweet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bids me dream and bids me linger,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Joy and Beauty are its goal,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the path that leads to nowhere<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I have sometimes found my soul!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Corinne Roosevelt Robinson</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span></p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span></p> + +<h2>LOVERS AND ROSES</h2> + + +<h3>THE MESSAGE</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0"><i>So fair the world about me lies,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>So pure is heaven above,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Ere so much beauty dies</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>I would give a gift to my love;</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Now, ere the long day close,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>That has been so full of bliss,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>I will send to my love the rose,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>In its leaves I will shut a kiss;</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>A rose in the night to perish,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>A kiss through life to cherish;</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Now, ere the night-wind blows,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>I will send unto her the rose.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">George Edward Woodberry</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>"WHERE LOVE IS LIFE"</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Where love is life<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The roses blow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though winds be rude<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And cold the snow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The roses climb<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Serenely slow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They nod in rhyme<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We know—we know<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where love is life<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The roses blow.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Where life is love<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The roses blow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though care be quick<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sorrows grow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their roots are twined<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With rose-roots so<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That rosebuds find<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A way to show<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where life is love<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The roses blow.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Duncan Campbell Scott</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>THE TIME OF ROSES</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Love, it is the time of roses!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In bright fields and garden-closes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How they burgeon and unfold!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How they sweep o'er tombs and towers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In voluptuous crimson showers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And untrammelled tides of gold!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">How they lure wild bees to capture<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All the rich mellifluous rapture<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of their magical perfume,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And to passing winds surrender<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And their frail and dazzling splendor<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rivalling your turban-plume!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">How they cleave the air adorning<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The high rivers of the morning<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In a blithe, bejewelled fleet!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How they deck the moonlit grasses<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In thick rainbow tinted masses<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like a fair queen's bridal sheet!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Hide me in a shrine of roses,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Drown me in a wine of roses<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Drawn from every fragrant grove!<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Bind me on a pyre of roses,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Burn me in a fire of roses,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Crown me with the rose of Love!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Sarojini Naidu</span></div> + + +<h3>LOVE PLANTED A ROSE</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Love planted a rose,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the world turned sweet.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the wheat-field blows<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Love planted a rose.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Up the mill-wheel's prose<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ran a music-beat.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Love planted a rose,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the world turned sweet.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Katharine Lee Bates</span></div> + + +<h3>THE GARDEN</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">My heart shall be thy garden. Come, my own,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Into thy garden; thine be happy hours<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Among my fairest thoughts, my tallest flowers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From root to crowning petal thine alone.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Thine is the place from where the seeds are sown<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Up to the sky enclosed, with all its showers.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But ah, the birds, the birds! Who shall build bowers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To keep these thine? O friend, the birds have flown.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> +<span class="i4">For as these come and go, and quit our pine<br /></span> +<span class="i6">To follow the sweet season, or, new-comers,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Sing one song only from our alder-trees,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">My heart has thoughts, which, though thine eyes hold mine,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fit to the silent world and other summers,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">With wings that dip beyond the silver seas.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Alice Meynell</span></div> + + +<h3>CLOUD AND FLOWER</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">I saw the giant stalking to the sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The giant cloud above the wilderness,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bearing a mystery too far, too high,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For my poor guess.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Away I turned me, sighing: "I must seek<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In lowlier places for the wonder-word.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Something more little, intimate, shall speak."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A bright rose stirred.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And long I looked into its face, to see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At last some hidden import of the hour.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">And I had thought to turn from mystery—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But O, flower! flower!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Agnes Lee</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>PROGRESS</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">There seems no difference between<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To-day and yesterday—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The forest glimmers just as green,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The garden's just as gay.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Yet, something came and something went<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Within the night's chill gloom:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An old rose fell, her fragrance spent,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A new rose burst in bloom.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Charlotte Becker</span></div> + + +<h3>"BUT WE DID WALK IN EDEN"</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">But we did walk in Eden,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Eden, the garden of God;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There, where no beckoning wonder<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of all the paths we trod,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No choiring sun-filled vineyard,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No voice of stream or bird,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But was some radiant oracle<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And flaming with the Word!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Mine ears are dim with voices;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mine eyes yet strive to see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The black things here to wonder at,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The mirth,—the misery.<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Beloved, who wert with me there,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">How came these shames to be?—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On what lost star are we?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Men say: The paths of gladness<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By men were never trod!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But we have walked in Eden,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Eden, the garden of God.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Josephine Preston Peabody</span></div> + + +<h3>A GARDEN-PIECE</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Among the flowers of summer-time she stood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And underneath the films and blossoms shone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her face, like some pomegranate strangely grown<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To ripe magnificence in solitude;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wanton winds, deft whisperers, had strewed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her shoulders with her shining hair out blown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And dyed her breast with many a changing tone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of silvery green, and all the hues that brood<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Among the flowers;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She raised her arm up for her dove to know<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That he might preen him on her lovely head;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then I, unseen, and rising on tiptoe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bowed over the rose-barriers, and lo!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Touched not her arm, but kissed her lips instead,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Among the flowers!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Edmund Gosse</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>"HOW MANY FLOWERS ARE GENTLY MET"</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">How many flowers are gently met<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Within my garden fair!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The daffodil, the violet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lilies dear are there.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">They fade and pass, the fleeting flowers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And brief their little light;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They hold not Love's diviner hours,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor Sower's human night.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Tho' one by one their bloom depart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No change thy lover knows,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For mine the fragrance of thy heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O thou my perfect rose!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">George Sterling</span></div> + + +<h3>WITH A ROSE, TO BRUNHILDE</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Brunhilde, with the young Norn soul<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That has no peace, and grim as those<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That spun the thread of life, give heed:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Peace is concealed in every rose.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And in these petals peace I bring:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A jewel clearer than the dew:<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> +<span class="i0">A perfume subtler than the breath<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Spring with which it circles you.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Peace I have found, asleep, awake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By many paths, on many a strand.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Peace overspreads the sky with stars.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Peace is concealed within your hand.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when at night I clasp it there<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I wonder how you never know<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The strength you shed from finger-tips:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The treasure that consoles me so.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Begin the art of finding peace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beloved:—it is art, no less.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sometimes we find it hid beneath<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The orchards in their springtime dress:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sometimes one finds it in oak woods,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sometimes in dazzling mountain-snows;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In books, sometimes. But pray begin<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By finding it within a rose.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Vachel Lindsay</span></div> + + +<h3>"MY SOUL IS LIKE A GARDEN-CLOSE"</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">My soul is like a garden-close<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where marjoram and lilac grow,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where soft the scent of long ago<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Over the border lightly blows.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Where sometimes homing winds at play<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bear the faint fragrance of a rose—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My soul is like a garden-close<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Because you chanced to pass my way.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Thomas S. Jones, Jr.</span></div> + + +<h3>A DREAM</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">I dreamed a dream of roses somewhere breathing<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their sweet souls out upon the summer night:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The flowers I saw not, but their fragrance wreathing<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like clouds of incense filled me with delight.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And then as if for my still further pleasure<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There came a flood of sweetest melody,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But whence I knew not flowed the wondrous measure,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For neither flute nor viol could I see.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then in the vision love sublime, immortal,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Encircled all my soul with its pure stream;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And though I saw thee not through dreamland's portal,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I knew thou only hadst inspired the dream.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis thus thine influence itself discloses,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In dreams of love, of music, and of roses!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Antoinette De Coursey Patterson</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>THE ROSE</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The rose-tree wears a diadem,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Both bud and bloom of gold and fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Too high upon the slender stem<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For baby hands that reach for them:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">And <i>Roses!</i> my brown Elsa cries:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her chubby arms in vain aspire.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But rose-leaf Hilda smiles and sighs<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And worships them with patient eyes.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">I gathered them a rose or two,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But not the shy one hanging higher<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That brushed my lips with honey-dew!<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>That</i> is the rose I send to you.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Grace Hazard Conkling</span></div> + + +<h3>PRAYER</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Would that I might become you,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Losing myself, my sweet!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So longs the dust that lies<br /></span> +<span class="i2">About the rose's feet.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">So longs the last, dim star<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hung on the verge of night;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She moves—she melts—she slips—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She trembles into the light.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">John Hall Wheelock</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>IN A GARDEN</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">I sat one day within a garden fair<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pining for thee and sad because alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wishing some fate could send thee to me there.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">All things appeared to share my saddened mood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each flower drooped, the sun was hid from view,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The very birds in silence seemed to brood.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Then, as I day-dreamed with my eyes half closed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sudden the birds began to sing again,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The flow'rs, uplifting heads, no longer dozed.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Thinking the sun had come once more for me<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And for all nature, to effect such change,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I turned and lo! saw not the sun but thee.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Livingston L. Biddle</span></div> + + +<h3>A SONG OF FAIRIES</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Oh, the beauty of the world is in this garden,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I hear it stir on every hand.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">See how the flowers keep still because of it!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">hear how it trembles in the blackbird's song!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There is a secret in it, a blessed mystery.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I fain would weep to feel it near me, my eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i2">grow dim before these unseen wings.<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And the secret is in other places, it is in songs<br /></span> +<span class="i2">and music and all lovers' hearts.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hush now, and walk on tiptoe, for these are fairy things.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Elizabeth Kirby</span></div> + + +<h3>A SONG TO BELINDA</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Belinda in her dimity,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whereon are wrought pink roses,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Trips through the boxwood paths to me,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A-down the garden-closes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As though a hundred roses came,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">('Twas so I thought) to meet me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As though one rosebud said my name<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And bent its head to greet me.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Belinda, in your rose-wrought dress<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You seemed the garden's growing;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The tilt and toss o' you, no less<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Than wind-swayed posy blowing.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twas so I watched in sweet dismay,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lest in that happy hour,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sudden you'd stop and thrill and sway<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And turn into a flower.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Theodosia Garrison</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>SWEETHEART-LADY</h3> + +<div class="cpoem2"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">De roses lean ter love her an' des won't leave de place;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">De climbin' mawnin'-glories sweet-smilin' in her face;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">De twinklin' pathway know her an' seem ter pass de word,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' de South Win' singin' ter her ter match de mockin'-bird.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i6">She sweetheart ter de Springtime,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">W'en de dreamy roses stir,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">An' Winter shine lak' Summer<br /></span> +<span class="i8">An' wear a rose fer her.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">"Sweetheart!" sing de Medder, w'en lak' de light she pass;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">De River take de tune up: "Make me yo' lookin'-glass!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But des who her true lover she never let 'em know;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">De Win' is sich a tell-tale, an' de River run on so!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i6">But Springtime come a-courtin'<br /></span> +<span class="i8">An' let de blossoms fall,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">An' Summer say: "I loves you!"<br /></span> +<span class="i8">She sweetheart ter 'em ALL!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Frank L. Stanton</span></div> + + +<h3>HEART'S GARDEN</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">I have a garden filled with many flowers:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The mignonette, the sweet-pea, and the rose,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Daisies, and daffodils, whose color glows<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fairer for the verdure which embowers<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Their beauty, and sets forth their hidden powers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To charm my heart, whenever at the close<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of day's dull hurry I would seek repose<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In my still garden through the darkening hours.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Thus, Lady, do I keep a place apart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wherein my love for you cloistered shall be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far from the rattle of the city cart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Even as my garden, where daily I may see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The flowers of your love, and none from me<br /></span> +<span class="i0">May win the hidden secret of my heart.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Norreys Jephson O'Conor</span></div> + + +<h3>A ROSE LOVER</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Do thou, my rose, incline<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy heart to mine.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If love be real<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah, whisper, whisper low<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That I at last may know.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Quick! breathe it now!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A sigh,—a tear,—a vow:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, any lightest thing<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its cadences to sing<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That loved am I, and not,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah, not forgot!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Frederic A. Whiting</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>SONNET</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The sweet caresses that I gave to you<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Are but the perfume of the Rose of Love,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The color and the witchery thereof,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And not the Rose itself. Each is a clue<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Merely, whereby to seek the hidden, true,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Substantial blossom. Like the Jordan dove<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A kiss is but a symbol from above—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An emblem the Reality shines through.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The Rose of Love is ever unrevealed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In all its beauty, for the sight of it<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Were perilous with purpose of the world.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The hand of Life has cautiously concealed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The pollen-chamber of the infinite<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Flower, and its petals only half uncurled.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Elsa Barker</span></div> + + +<h3>A SONG IN A GARDEN</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Will the garden never forget<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That it whispers over and over,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Where is your lover, Nanette?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where is your lover—your lover?"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, roses I helped to grow,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oh, lily and mignonette,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Must you always question me so,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Where is your lover, Nanette?"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since you looked on my joy one day,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is my grief then a lesser thing?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have you only this to say<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When I pray you for comforting?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Now that I walk alone<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Here where our hands were met,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Must you whisper me everyone,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Where is your lover, Nanette?"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">I have mourned with you year and year,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the Autumn has left you bare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And now that my heart is sere<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Does not one of your roses care?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, help me forget—forget,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor question over and over,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Where is your lover, Nanette?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where is your lover—your lover?"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Theodosia Garrison</span></div> + + +<h3>"IT WAS JUNE IN THE GARDEN"</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i2">It was June in the garden,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It was our time, our day;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And our gaze with love on everything<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Did fall;<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> +<span class="i2">They seemed then softly opening,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And they saw and loved us both,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The roses all.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The sky was purer than all limpid thought;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Insect and bird<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Swept through the golden texture of the air,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Unheard;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our kisses were so fair they brought<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Exaltation to both light and bird.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It seemed as though a happiness at once<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had skied itself and wished the heavens entire<br /></span> +<span class="i4">For its resplendent fire;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And life, all pulsing life, had entered in,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Into the fissures of our beings to the core,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To fling them higher.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">And there was nothing but invocatory cries,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mad impulses, prayers and vows that cleave<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The archèd skies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sudden yearning to create new gods,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">In order to believe.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Emile Verhaeren</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>TWO ROSES</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">A fair white rose sedately grows<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Within the garden wall. There blows<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No wind to ruff her petals white,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No stain of earth, no touch of blight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The pure face of my ladye shows.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The queen of all the walls enclose<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Might be mine own, an' if I chose;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But yet, but yet I cannot slight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My wild red rose.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Outside the garden wall she throws<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her clinging tendrils, and she knows<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How strong the winds of passion smite;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She's fragrant, though not faultless quite;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Just as she is, none shall depose<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My wild red rose.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">William Lindsey</span></div> + + +<h3>ROSES</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Red roses floating in a crystal bowl<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You bring, O love; and in your eyes I see,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blossom on blossom, your warm love of me<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Burning within the crystal of your soul—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Red roses floating in a crystal bowl.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Wilfrid Wilson Gibson</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>HER GARDEN</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">This friendly garden, with its fragrant roses,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It was not ours, when she was here below;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And so, in that low bed where she reposes,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The beauty of it all she cannot know.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">But in the evening when the birds are calling<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The fragrance rises like a breath of myrrh,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And in my empty heart, benignly falling,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Becomes a little prayer to send to her.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">So, in that silent, lonely bed that holds her,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where nevermore the shadows rise or flee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I think a dream of radiant spring enfolds her—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of bloom and bird and bending bough ... and me.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Louis Dodge</span></div> + + +<h3>ÆRE PERENNIUS</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">As long as the stars of God<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hang steadfast in the sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the blossoms 'neath the sod<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Awake when Spring is nigh;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As long as the nightingale<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sings love-songs to the rose,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the Winter wind in the vale<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Makes moan o'er the virgin snows—<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> +<span class="i0">As long as these things be<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I would tell my love for thee!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">As long as the rose of June<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bursts forth in crimson fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the mellow harvest-moon<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shines over hill and spire;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As long as heaven's dew<br /></span> +<span class="i2">At morning kisses the sod;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As long as you are you,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And I know that God is God—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As long as these things be<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I would tell my love for thee!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Charles Hanson Towne</span></div> + + +<h3>EVER THE SAME</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">King Solomon walked a thousand times<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Forth of his garden-close;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And saw there spring no goodlier thing,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Be sure, than the same little rose.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Under the sun was nothing new,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or now, I well suppose.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But what new thing could you find to sing<br /></span> +<span class="i2">More rare than the same little rose?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Nothing is new; save I, save you,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And every new heart that grows,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the same Earth met, that nurtures yet<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Breath of the same little rose.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Josephine Preston Peabody</span></div> + + +<h3>THE MESSAGE</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">When one has heard the message of the Rose,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For what faint other calling shall he care?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dark broodings turn to find their lonely lair;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The vain world keeps her posturing and pose.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He, with his crimson secret, which bestows<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Heaven in his heart, to Heaven lifts his prayer,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And knows all glory trembling through the air<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As on triumphal journeying he goes.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">So through green woodlands in the twilight dim,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Led by the faint, pale argent of a star,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">What though to others it is weary night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nature holds out her wide, sweet heart to him;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And, leaning o'er the world's mysterious bar,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">His soul is great with everlasting light.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Helen Hay Whitney</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>TELL-TALE</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The Lily whispered to the Rose:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"The Tulip's fearfully stuck up.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You'd think to see the creature's pose,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She was a golden altar-cup.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There's method in her boldness, too;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She catches twice her share of Dew."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The Rose into the Tulip's ear<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Murmured: "The Lily is a sight;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Don't you believe she <i>powders</i>, dear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To make herself so saintly white?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She takes some trouble, it is plain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her reputation to sustain."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Said Tulip to the Lily white:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"About the Rose—what do you think?—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her color? Should you say it's quite—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Well, quite a natural shade of pink?"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Natural!" the Lily cried. "Good Saints!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why, <i>everybody</i> knows she paints!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Oliver Herford</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>DA THIEF</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i2">Eef poor man goes<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An' steals a rose<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Een Juna-time—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wan leetla rose—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You gon' su'pose<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Dat dat's a crime?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Eh! w'at? Den taka look at me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For here bayfore your eyes you see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wan thief dat ees so glad an' proud<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He gona brag of eet out loud!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So moocha good I do, an' feel<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From dat wan leetla rose I steal,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dat eef I gon' to jail to-day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dey could no tak' my joy away.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So, lees'en! here ees how eet com':<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Las' night w'en I am walkin' home<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From work een hotta ceety street,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ees sudden com' a smal so sweet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Eet maka heaven een my nose—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I look an' dere I see da rose!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not wan, but manny, fine an' tall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dat peep at me above da wall.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So, too, I close my eyes an' find<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Anudder peecture een my mind;<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> +<span class="i0">I see a house dat's small an' hot<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where manny pretta theengs is not,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where leetla woman, good an' true,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ees work so hard da whole day through,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She's too wore out, w'en com's da night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For smile an' mak' da housa bright.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">But, presto! now I'm home an' she<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ees settin' on da step weeth me.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bambino, sleepin' on her breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ees nevva know more sweeta rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' nevva was sooch glad su'prise<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like now ees shina from her eyes;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' all baycause to-night she wear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wan leetla rose stuck een her hair.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She ees so please'! Eet mak' me feel<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I shoulda sooner learned to steal.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i2">Eef "thief's" my name<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I feel no shame;<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Eet ees no crime—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dat rose I got.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Eh! w'at? O! not<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Een Juna-time!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">T. A. Daly</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>RESULTS AND ROSES</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The man who wants a garden fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or small or very big,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With flowers growing here and there,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Must bend his back and dig.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The things are mighty few on earth<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That wishes can attain.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whate'er we want of any worth<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We've got to work to gain.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">It matters not what goal you seek,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Its secret here reposes:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You've got to dig from week to week<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To get Results or Roses.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Edgar A. Guest</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span><br /></p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span></p> + +<h2>UNDERNEATH THE BOUGH</h2> + + +<h3>MIRACLE</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0"><i>Yesterday the twig was brown and bare;</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>To-day the glint of green is there</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>To-morrow will be leaflets spare;</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>I know no thing so wondrous fair</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>No miracle so strangely rare.</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0"><i>I wonder what will next be there!</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">L. H. Bailey</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>THE AWAKENING</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">You little, eager, peeping thing—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You embryonic point of light<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pushing from out your winter night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How you do make my pulses sing!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A tiny eye amid the gloom—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The merest speck I scarce had seen—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So doth God's rapture rend the tomb<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In this wee burst of April green!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">And lo, 'tis here—and lo! 'Tis there—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Spurting its jets of sweet desire<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In upward curling threads of fire<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like tapers kindling all the air.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why, scarce it seems an hour ago<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These branches clashed in bitter cold;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What Power hath set their veins aglow?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O soul of mine, be bold, be bold!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If from this tree, this blackened thing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hard as the floor my feet have prest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This flame of joy comes clamoring<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In hues as red as robin's breast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Waking to life this little twig—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O faith of mine, be big! Be big!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Angela Morgan</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>SHADE</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The kindliest thing God ever made,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His hand of very healing laid<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon a fevered world, is shade.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">His glorious company of trees<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Throw out their mantles, and on these<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The dust-stained wanderer finds ease.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Green temples, closed against the beat<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of noontime's blinding glare and heat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Open to any pilgrim's feet.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The white road blisters in the sun;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now, half the weary journey done,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Enter and rest, Oh, weary one!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">And feel the dew of dawn still wet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath thy feet, and so forget<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The burning highway's ache and fret.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">This is God's hospitality,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And whoso rests beneath a tree<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hath cause to thank Him gratefully.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Theodosia Garrison</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>SELECTION FROM "UNDER THE TREES"</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The wonderful, strong, angelic trees,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With their blowing locks and their bared great knees<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And nourishing bosoms, shout all together,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And rush and rock through the glad wild weather.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">They are so old they teach me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With their strong hands they reach me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Into their breast my soul they take,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And keep me there for wisdom's sake.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">They teach me little prayers;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To-day I am their child;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sweet breath of their innocent airs<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blows through me strange and wild.<br /></span> +</div> +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">I never feel afraid<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Among the trees;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of trees are houses made;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And even with these,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unhewn, untouched, unseen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is something homelike in the safe sweet green,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Intimate in the shade.<br /></span> +</div> +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">We are all brothers! Come, let's rest awhile<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the great kinship. Underneath the trees<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let's be at home once more, with birds and bees<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And gnats and soil and stone. With these I must<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Acknowledge family ties. Our mother, the dust,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With wistful and investigating eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Searches my soul for the old sturdiness,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Valor, simplicity! Stout virtues these,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We learned at her dear knees.<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Friend, you and I<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Once played together in the good old days.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Do you remember? Why, brother, down what wild ways<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We traveled, when—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That's right! Draw close to me!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Come now, let's tell the tale beneath the old roof-tree.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Anna Hempstead Branch</span></div> + + +<h3>A GARDEN FRIEND</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">O comrade tree, perhaps alive as I—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One process lacking of this mortal clay—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Give me your constant outlook to the sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The courtesy and cheer that fill your day.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Your noble gift of perfect service teach;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your wisdom in the wild storm softly bent<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Aware 'twill end; your patience that can reach<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Across the years from clod to firmament.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Catherine Markham</span> (<span class="smcap">Mrs. Edwin Markham</span>)</div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>A LADY OF THE SNOWS</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The mountain hemlock droops her lacy branches<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oh, so tenderly<br /></span> +<span class="i4">In the summer sun!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet she has power to baffle avalanches—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She, rising slenderly<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Where the rivers run.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">So pliant yet so powerful! Oh, see her<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Spread alluringly<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Her thin sea-green dress!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now from white winter's thrall the sun would free her<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To bloom unenduringly<br /></span> +<span class="i4">In his glad caress.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Harriet Monroe</span></div> + + +<h3>THE TREE</h3> + +<div class="cpoem2"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Spread, delicate roots of my tree,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Feeling, clasping, thrusting, growing;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sensitive pilgrim root tips roaming everywhere.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Into resistant earth your filaments forcing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Down in the dark, unknown, desirous:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The strange ceaseless life of you, eating and drinking of earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The corrosive secretions of you, breaking the stuff of the world to your will.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Tips of my tree in the springtime bursting to terrible beauty,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Folded green life, exquisite, holy exultant;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I feel in you the splendour, the autumn of ripe fulfilment,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Love and labour and death, the sacred pageant of life.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the sweet curled buds of you,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the opening glory of leaves, tissues moulded of green light;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Veined, cut, perfect to type,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each one like a child of high lineage bearing the sigil of race.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The open hands of my tree held out to the touch of the air<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As love that opens its arms and waits on the lover's will;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The curtsey, the sway, and the toss of the spray as it sports with the breeze;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rhythmical whisper of leaves that murmur and move in the light;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Crying of wind in the boughs, the beautiful music of pain:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus do you sing and say<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sorrow, the effort, the sweet surrender, the joy.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Come! tented leaves of my tree;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">High summer is here, the moment of passionate life,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The hushed, the maternal hour.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Deep in the shaded green your mystery shielding,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heir of the ancient woods and parent of forests to be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lo! to your keeping is given the Father's life-giving thought;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The thing that is dream and deed and carries the gift of the past.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For this, for this, great tree,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The glory of maiden leaves, the solemn stretch of the bough,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> +<span class="i0">The wise persistent roots<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Into the stuff of the world their filaments forcing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Breaking the earth to their need.<br /></span> +</div> +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Tall tree, your name is peace.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You are the channel of God:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His mystical sap,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Elixir of infinite love, syrup of infinite power,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Swelling and shaping, brooding and hiding,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With out-thrust of delicate joy, with pitiless pageant of death,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sings in your cells;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its rhythmical cycle of life<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In you is fulfilled.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Evelyn Underhill</span></div> + + +<h3>"LOVELIEST OF TREES"</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Loveliest of trees, the cherry now<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is hung with bloom along the bough,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And stands about the woodland ride<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wearing white for Eastertide.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Now, of my threescore years and ten,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Twenty will not come again,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And take from seventy springs a score,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It only leaves me fifty more.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And since to look at things in bloom<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fifty springs are little room,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">About the woodlands I will go<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To see the cherry hung with snow.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">A. E. Housman</span></div> + + +<h3>THE SPIRIT OF THE BIRCH</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">I am the dancer of the wood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I shimmer in the solitude<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Men call me Birch Tree, yet I know<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In other days it was not so.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I am a Dryad slim and white<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who danced too long one summer night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the Dawn found and prisoned me!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Captive I moaned my liberty.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But let the wood wind flutes begin<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their elfin music, faint and thin,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I sway, I bend, retreat, advance,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And evermore—I dance! I dance!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Arthur Ketchum</span></div> + + +<h3>FAMILY TREES</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">You boast about your ancient line,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But listen, stranger, unto mine:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">You trace your lineage afar,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Back to the heroes of a war<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Fought that a country might be free;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yea, farther—to a stormy sea<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where winter's angry billows tossed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er which your Pilgrim Fathers crossed.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nay, more—through yellow, dusty tomes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You trace your name to English homes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before the distant, unknown West<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lay open to a world's behest;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yea, back to days of those Crusades<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When Turk and Christian crossed their blades,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You point with pride to ancient names,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To powdered sires and painted dames;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You boast of this—your family tree;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now listen, stranger, unto me:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">When armored knights and gallant squires,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your own belovèd, honored sires,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were in their infants' blankets rolled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My fathers' youngest sons were old;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When they broke forth in infant tears<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My fathers' heads were crowned with years,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yea, ere the mighty Saxon host<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of which you sing had touched the coast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Looked back as far as you look now.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yea, when the Druids trod the wood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My venerable fathers stood<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And gazed through misty centuries<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As far as even Memory sees.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When Britain's eldest first beheld<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The light, my fathers then were eld.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You of the splendid ancestry,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who boast about your family tree,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Consider, stranger, this of mine—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bethink the lineage of a Pine.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Douglas Malloch</span></div> + + +<h3>IDEALISTS</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Brother Tree:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why do you reach and reach?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Do you dream some day to touch the sky?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Brother Stream:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why do you run and run?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Do you dream some day to fill the sea?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Brother Bird:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why do you sing and sing?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Do you dream—<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Young Man:</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Why do you talk and talk and talk?</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Alfred Kreymborg</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>"DRAW CLOSER, O YE TREES"</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i4">O quiet cottage room,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose casements, looking o'er the garden-close,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are hid in wildings and the woodbine bloom<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And many a clambering rose,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i4">Sweet is thy light subdued,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gracious and soft, lingering upon my book,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As that which shimmers through the branchèd wood<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Above some dreamful nook!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i4">Leaning within my chair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through the curtain I can see the stir—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The gentle undulations of the air—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Sway the dark-layered fir;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i4">And, in the beechen green,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mark many a squirrel romp and chirrup loud;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While far beyond, the chestnut-boughs between,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Floats the white summer cloud.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i4">Through the loopholes in the leaves,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon the yellow slopes of far-off farms,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I see the rhythmic cradlers and the sheaves<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Gleam in the binders' arms.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> +<span class="i4">At times I note, nearby,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The flicker tapping on some hollow bole;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And watch the sun, against the sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The fluting oriole;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i4">Or, when the day is done,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the warm splendors make the oak-top flush,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hear him, full-throated in the setting sun,—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The darling wildwood thrush.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i4">O sanctuary shade<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Enfold one round! I would no longer roam:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let not the thought of wandering e'er invade<br /></span> +<span class="i4">This still, reclusive home!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i4">Draw closer, O ye trees!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Veil from my sight e'en the loved mountain's blue;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The world may be more fair beyond all these,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Yet I would know but you!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Lloyd Mifflin</span></div> + + +<h3>TREES</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">In the Garden of Eden, planted by God,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There were goodly trees in the springing sod,—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Trees of beauty and height and grace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To stand in splendor before His face.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Apple and hickory, ash and pear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oak and beech and the tulip rare,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The trembling aspen, the noble pine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sweeping elm by the river line;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Trees for the birds to build and sing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the lilac tree for a joy in spring;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Trees to turn at the frosty call<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And carpet the ground for their Lord's footfall;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Trees for fruitage and fire and shade,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Trees for the cunning builder's trade;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Wood for the bow, the spear, and the flail,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The keel and the mast of the daring sail;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">He made them of every grain and girth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the use of man in the Garden of Earth.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Then lest the soul should not lift her eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the gift to the Giver of Paradise,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">On the crown of a hill, for all to see,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">God planted a scarlet maple tree.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Bliss Carman</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>THE TREES</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">There's something in a noble tree—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What shall I say? a soul?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For 'tis not form, or aught we see<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In leaf or branch or bole.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some presence, though not understood,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dwells there alway, and seems<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To be acquainted with our mood,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And mingles in our dreams.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">I would not say that trees at all<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Were of our blood and race,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet, lingering where their shadows fall,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I sometimes think I trace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A kinship, whose far-reaching root<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Grew when the world began,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And made them best of all things mute<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To be the friends of man.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Held down by whatsoever might<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Unto an earthly sod,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They stretch forth arms for air and light,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As we do after God;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when in all their boughs the breeze<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Moans loud, or softly sings,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As our own hearts in us, the trees<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Are almost human things.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> +<span class="i0">What wonder in the days that burned<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With old poetic dream,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dead Phaëthon's fair sisters turned<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To poplars by the stream!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In many a light cotillion stept<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The trees when fluters blew;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And many a tear, 'tis said, they wept<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For human sorrow too.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Mute, said I? They are seldom thus;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They whisper each to each,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And each and all of them to us,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In varied forms of speech.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Be serious," the solemn pine<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is saying overhead;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Be beautiful," the elm-tree fine<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Has always finely said;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">"Be quick to feel," the aspen still<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Repeats the whole day long;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While, from the green slope of the hill,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The oak-tree adds, "Be strong."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When with my burden, as I hear<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Their distant voices call,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I rise, and listen, and draw near,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Be patient," say they all.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Samuel Valentine Cole</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>THE POPLARS</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">My poplars are like ladies trim,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each conscious of her own estate;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In costume somewhat over prim,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In manner cordially sedate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like two old neighbours met to chat<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beside my garden gate.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">My stately old aristocrats—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I fancy still their talk must be<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of rose-conserves and Persian cats,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lavender and Indian tea;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I wonder sometimes as I pass<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If they approve of me.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">I give them greeting night and morn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I like to think they answer, too,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With that benign assurance born<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When youth gives age the reverence due,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And bend their wise heads as I go<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As courteous ladies do.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Long may you stand before my door,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, kindly neighbours garbed in green,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And bend with rustling welcome o'er<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The many friends who pass between;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And where the little children play<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Look down with gracious mien.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Theodosia Garrison</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>TREES</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">I think that I shall never see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A poem lovely as a tree.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">A tree whose hungry mouth is prest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">A tree that looks at God all day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lifts her leafy arms to pray;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">A tree that may in Summer wear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A nest of robins in her hair;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Upon whose bosom snow has lain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who intimately lives with rain.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Poems are made by fools like me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But only God can make a tree.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Joyce Kilmer</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span><br /></p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span></p> + +<h2>THE LOST GARDENS OF THE HEART</h2> + + +<h3>AS IN A ROSE-JAR</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0"><i>As in a rose-jar filled with petals sweet</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>Blown long ago in some old garden place,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>Mayhap, where you and I, a little space</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Drank deep of love and knew that love was fleet—</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Or leaves once gathered from a lost retreat</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>By one who never will again retrace</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>Her silent footsteps—one, whose gentle face</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Was fairer than the roses at her feet;</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0"><i>So, deep within the vase of memory</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>I keep my dust of roses fresh and dear</i><br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>As in the days before I knew the smart</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Of time and death. Nor aught can take from me</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>The haunting fragrance that still lingers here—</i><br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>As in a rose-jar, so within the heart!</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Thomas S. Jones, Jr.</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>IN AN OLD GARDEN</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Old phantoms haunt it of the long-ago;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Old ghosts of old-time lovers and of dreams:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Within the quiet sunlight there, meseems,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I see them walking where those lilies blow.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The hardy phlox sways to some garments' flow;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The salvia there with sudden scarlet streams,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Caught from some ribbon of some throat that gleams,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Petunia fair, in flounce and furbelow.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I seem to hear their whispers in each wind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That wanders 'mid the flowers. There they stand!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Among the shadows of that apple tree!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They are not dead, whom still it keeps in mind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This garden, planted by some lovely hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That keeps it fragrant with its memory.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Madison Cawein</span></div> + + +<h3>THE GARDEN OF DREAMS</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">My heart is a garden of dreams<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where you walk when day is done,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fair as the royal flowers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Calm as the lingering sun.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Never a drouth comes there,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor any frost that mars,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Only the wind of love<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Under the early stars,—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> +<span class="i0">The living breath that moves<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whispering to and fro,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like the voice of God in the dusk<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the garden long ago.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Bliss Carman</span></div> + + +<h3>HOMESICK</h3> + +<div class="cpoem2"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">O my garden! lying whitely in the moonlight and the dew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far across the leagues of distance flies my heart to-night to you,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I see your stately lilies in the tender radiance gleam<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With a dim, mysterious splendor, like the angels of a dream!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">I can see the stealthy shadows creep along the ivied wall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the bosky depths of verdure where the drooping vine-leaves fall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the tall trees standing darkly with their crowns against the sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While overhead the harvest moon goes slowly sailing by.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">I can see the trellised arbor, and the roses' crimson glow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the lances of the larkspurs all glittering, row on row,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the wilderness of hollyhocks, where brown bees seek their spoil,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And butterflies dance all day long, in glad and gay turmoil.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> +<span class="i0">O, the broad paths running straightly, north and south and east and west!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O, the wild grape climbing sturdily to reach the oriole's nest!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O, the bank where wild flowers blossom, ferns nod and mosses creep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In a tangled maze of beauty over all the wooded steep!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Just beyond the moonlit garden I can see the orchard trees,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With their dark boughs overladen, stirring softly in the breeze,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the shadows on the greensward, and within the pasture bars<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The white sheep huddling quietly beneath the pallid stars.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">O my garden! lying whitely in the moonlight and the dew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far across the restless ocean flies my yearning heart to you,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I turn from storied castle, hoary fane, and ruined shrine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the dear, familiar pleasaunce where my own white lilies shine—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">With a vague, half-startled wonder if some night in Paradise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the battlements of heaven I shall turn my longing eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All the dim, resplendent spaces and the mazy stardrifts through<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To my garden lying whitely in the moonlight and the dew!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Julia C. R. Dorr</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>THE WAYS OF TIME</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">As butterflies are but winged flowers,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Half sorry for their change, who fain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So still and long they live on leaves,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Would be thought flowers again.—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">E'en so my thoughts, that should expand,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And grow to higher themes above,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Return like butterflies to lie<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On the old things I love.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">William H. Davies</span></div> + + +<h3>A MIDSUMMER GARDEN</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">There is a little garden-close,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Girdled by golden apple trees,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That through the long sweet summer hours<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is haunted by the hum of bees.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The poppy tosses here its torch,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the tall bee-balm flaunts its fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And regally the larkspur lifts<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The slender azure of its spire.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">And from the phlox and mignonette<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Rich attars drift on every hand;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when star-vestured twilight comes<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The pale moths weave a saraband.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And crickets in the aisles of grass<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With their clear fifing pierce the hush;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And somewhere you may hear anear<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The passion of the hermit-thrush.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">It is a place where dreams convene,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dreams of the dead years gone astray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of love and loveliness borne back<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From some forgotten yesterday.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">It is a memory-hallowed spot<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where joy assumes its vernal guise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And two walk silent side by side,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Youth's glory shining in their eyes.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Clinton Scollard</span></div> + + +<h3>THE WHITE ROSE</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">This is the spirit flower,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The ghost of an old regret;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All night she stands in the garden-close,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And her face with tears is wet.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But I love the pale white rose,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For she always seems to me<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A pallid nun who dreams all day<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of a distant memory.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Alas! how well I know<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That every garden spot<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is haunted by a gentle ghost<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who will not be forgot.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the garden of the heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ere the sun of life is set,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O many a wild rose blooms and dreams<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of many an old regret!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Charles Hanson Towne</span></div> + + +<h3>A HAUNTED GARDEN</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Between the moss and stone<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The lonely lilies rise;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wasted and overgrown<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The tangled garden lies.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Weeds climb about the stoop<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And clutch the crumbling walls;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The drowsy grasses droop—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The night wind falls.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The place is like a wood;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No sign is there to tell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where rose and iris stood<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That once she loved so well.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where phlox and asters grew,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A leafless thornbush stands,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And shrubs that never knew<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her tender hands....<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Over the broken fence<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The moonbeams trail their shrouds;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their tattered cerements<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Cling to the gauzy clouds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In ribbons frayed and thin—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And startled by the light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Silence shrinks deeper in<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The depths of night.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Useless lie spades and rakes;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Rust's on the garden-tools.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet, where the moonlight makes<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nebulous silver pools,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A ghostly shape is cast—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Something unseen has stirred ...<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was it a breeze that passed?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Was it a bird?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Dead roses lift their heads<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Out of a grassy tomb;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From ruined pansy-beds<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A thousand pansies bloom.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The gate is opened wide—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The garden that has been,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now blossoms like a bride ...<br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>Who entered in?</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Louis Untermeyer</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>THE DUSTY HOUR-GLASS</h3> + +<div class="cpoem2"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">It had been a trim garden,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With parterres of fringed pinks and gillyflowers,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">and smooth-raked walks.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Silks and satins had brushed the box edges<br /></span> +<span class="i8">of its alleys.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The curved stone lips of its fishponds<br /></span> +<span class="i8">had held the rippled reflections of tricorns and<br /></span> +<span class="i12">powdered periwigs.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The branches of its trees had glittered with lanterns,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">and swayed to the music of flutes and violins.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Now, the fishponds are green with scum;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And paths and flower-beds<br /></span> +<span class="i8">are run together and overgrown.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Only at one end is an octagonal Summerhouse<br /></span> +<span class="i8">not yet in ruins.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through the lozenged panes of its windows,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">you can see the interior:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A dusty bench; a fireplace,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">with a lacing of letters carved in the stone above it;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A broken ball of worsted<br /></span> +<span class="i8">rolled away into a corner.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0"><i>Dolci, dolci, i giorni passati!</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Amy Lowell</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>THE SONG OF WANDERING AENGUS</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">I went out to the hazel wood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Because a fire was in my head,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And cut and peeled a hazel wand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hooked a berry to a thread;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when white moths were on the wing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And moth-like stars were flickering out,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I dropped the berry in a stream,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And caught a little silver trout.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">When I had laid it on the floor,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I went to blow the fire a-flame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But something rustled on the floor,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And some one called me by my name:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It had become a glimmering girl,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With apple-blossom in her hair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who called me by my name and ran<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And faded through the brightening air.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Though I am old with wandering<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through hollow lands and hilly lands,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I will find out where she has gone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And kiss her lips and take her hands;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And walk among long dappled grass,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And pluck till time and times are done<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The silver apples of the moon,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The golden apples of the sun.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">W. B. Yeats</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>THE THREE CHERRY TREES</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i2">There were three cherry trees once,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Grew in a garden all shady;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And there for delight of so gladsome a sight,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Walked a most beautiful lady,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dreamed a most beautiful lady.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i2">Birds in those branches did sing,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Blackbird and throstle and linnet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But she walking there was by far the most fair—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lovelier than all else within it,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Blackbird and throstle and linnet.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i2">But blossoms to berries do come,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All hanging on stalks light and slender,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And one long summer's day charmed that lady away,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With vows sweet and merry and tender;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A lover with voice low and tender.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i2">Moss and lichen the green branches deck;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Weeds nod in its paths green and shady;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet a light footstep seems there to wander in dreams,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The ghost of that beautiful lady,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That happy and beautiful lady.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Walter de la Mare</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>OLD GARDENS</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The white rose tree that spent its musk<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For lovers' sweeter praise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The stately walks we sought at dusk,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Have missed thee many days.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Again, with once-familiar feet,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I tread the old parterre—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, ah, its bloom is now less sweet<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Than when thy face was there.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">I hear the birds of evening call;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I take the wild perfume;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I pluck a rose—to let it fall<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And perish in the gloom.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Arthur Upson</span></div> + + +<h3>THE BLOOMING OF THE ROSE</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">What is it like, to be a rose?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0"><i>Old Roses, softly</i>, "Try and see."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Nay, I will tarry. Let me be<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In my green peacefulness and smile.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I will stay here and dream awhile.<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis well for little buds to dream,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dream—dream—who knows—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Say, is it good to be a rose?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Old roses, tell me! Is it good?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0"><i>Old Roses, very softly</i>, "Good."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">I am afraid to be a rose!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This little sphere wherein I wait,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Curled up and small and delicate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lets in a twilight of pure green,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wherein are dreams of night and morn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the sweet stillness of a world<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where all things are that are unborn.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0"><i>Old Roses</i>, "Better to be born."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">I cannot be a bud for long.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My sheath is like a heart full blown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I, the silence of a song<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Withdrawn into that heart alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Well knowing that it shall be sung.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Outside the great world comes and goes—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I think I doubt, to be a rose—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0"><i>Old Roses</i>, "Doubt? To be a Rose!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Anna Hempstead Branch</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>THE GARDEN OF MNEMOSYNE</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">There are no roses in the garden now,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The summer birds have vanished oversea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ashen keys hang rusty on the bough,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Autumn's gold ensigns flame from tree to tree.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Music and perfume sleep, and light is fled,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Autumn's fine gold is faery gold, we know.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where shall we turn for joy when flowers are dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When birds are silent, and the cold winds blow?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The summer birds have vanished oversea,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But Memory's palace-courts are full of song;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There sings a nightingale for you and me,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And there a hidden lute plays all day long.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">There are no roses in the garden now,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But Memory's garden grows each day more fair;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sun, moon, and stars her orchard close endow,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And there bloom roses—roses everywhere.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Rosamund Marriott Watson</span></div> + + +<h3>BALLADE OF THE DREAMLAND ROSE</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Where the waves of burning cloud are rolled<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On the further shore of the sunset sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In a land of wonder that none behold,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">There blooms a rose on the Dreamland Tree<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> +<span class="i0">That stands in the Garden of Mystery<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where the River of Slumber softly flows;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And whenever a dream has come to be,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A petal falls from the Dreamland Rose.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">In the heart of the tree, on a branch of gold,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A silvern bird sings endlessly<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A mystic song that is ages old,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A mournful song in a minor key,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Full of the glamour of faery;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And whenever a dreamer's ears unclose<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the sound of that distant melody,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A petal falls from the Dreamland Rose.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Dreams and visions in hosts untold<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Throng around on the moonlit lea:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dreams of age that are calm and cold,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dreams of youth that are fair and free—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dark with a lone heart's agony,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bright with a hope that no one knows—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And whenever a dream and a dream agree,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A petal falls from the Dreamland Rose.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<div class="center"><span class="smcap">ENVOI</span><br /></div> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Princess, you gaze in a reverie<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where the drowsy firelight redly glows;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Slowly you raise your eyes to me ...<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A petal falls from the Dreamland Rose.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Brian Hooker</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>THE FLOWERS OF JUNE</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">These flowers of June<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The gates of memory unbar;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These flowers of June<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such old-time harmonies retune,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I fain would keep the gates ajar,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So full of sweet enchantment are<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These flowers of June.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Was it the bloom of the laurel sprays,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That wakened remembrance of singing birds?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or, was it the charm of remembered words,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That set my heart singing through somber days?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I longed for the summer-time, flower and tree;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And lo! the summer-time came with thee.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The bloom is no more, but the charm still stays.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">James Terry White</span></div> + + +<h3>IN MEMORY'S GARDEN</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">There is a garden in the twilight lands<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of Memory, where troops of butterflies<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flutter adown the cypress paths, and bands<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of flowers mysterious droop their drowsy eyes.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">There through the silken hush come footfalls faint<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And hurried through the vague parterres, and sighs<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Whispering of rapture or of sweet complaint<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like ceaseless parle of bees and butterflies.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">And by one lonely pathway steal I soon<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To find the flowerings of the old delight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our hearts together knew—when lo, the moon<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Turns all the cypress alleys into white.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Thomas Walsh</span></div> + + +<h3>SERENADE</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Dark is the iris meadow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dark is the ivory tower,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lightly the young moth's shadow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sleeps on the passion-flower.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Gone are our day's red roses.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So lovely and lost and few,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the first star uncloses<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A silver bud in the blue.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Night, and a flame in the embers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the seal of the years was set,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the almond-bough remembers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How shall my heart forget?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Marjorie L. C. Pickthall</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>"WHAT HEART BUT FEARS A FRAGRANCE?"</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">What heart but fears a fragrance?<br /></span> +<span class="i14">Alien they<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who breathe in the white lilac only May;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For there be other spirits unto whom<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fate's kiss lies dreaming in each stray perfume!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Who mock at ghosts of odour—poor they be!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bereft the scented balms of memory,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For unto one in April's rain-blest earth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There starts for aye the sharp, glad cry of birth;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Love will find in rooms unbarred for years<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Familiar sweetness loosing sudden tears,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Clasping the will in mastering embrace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As in the presence of a phantom grace.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Then there be odours pungent—fires in Fall<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The gipsying of boyhood to recall;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And there be perfumes holy—nay, but one<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose pang is like none other 'neath the sun<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To drown the sinking senses in a joy<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beyond all time to weaken or destroy!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Odours there be that swoon, entreat, caress—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Elusive thrall, to doom or stab or bless;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each vagrant scent that holds the breath in fee<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Doth wed the heart in Life's eternity.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Who fear no wraiths of fragrance—sorry they;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who breathe in lilac odours only May;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For there be other mortals unto whom<br /></span> +<span class="i0">White magic wanders in each stray perfume.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Martha Gilbert Dickinson Bianchi</span></div> + + +<h3>YEARS AFTERWARD</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">It is not sight or sound<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That, when a heart forgets,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Most makes it to remember:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It's some old poignant scent re-found—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like breath of April violets,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or apples of September.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">It isn't song or scene<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That stirs the tears again:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It's brush smoke from the hills at night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Spicy and sweet; or that wet, keen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Long lost aroma of delight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fresh ploughed fields after rain.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Nancy Byrd Turner</span></div> + + +<h3>AUTUMNAL</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Across the scented garden of my dreams<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where roses grew, Time passes like a thief,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Among my trees his silver sickle gleams,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The grass is stained with many a ruddy leaf;<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And on cold winds the petals float away<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That were the pride of June and her array.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The bare boughs weave a net upon the sky<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To catch Love's wings and his fair body bruise;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There are no flowers in the rosary—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No song-birds in the mournful avenues;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though on the sodden air not lightly breaks<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The elegy of Youth, whom love forsakes.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Ah, Time! one flower of all my garden spare,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">One rose of all the roses, that in this<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I may possess my love's perfumed hair<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And all the crimson secrets of her kiss.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Grant me one rose that I may drink its wine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And from her lips win the last anodyne.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">For I have learnt too many things to live,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And I have loved too many things to die;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But all my barren acres I would give<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For one red blossom of eternity,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To animate the darkness and delight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The spaces and the silences of night.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">But dreams are tender flowers that in their birth<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Are very near to death, and I shall reap,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Who planted wonder, unavailing earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Harsh thorns and miserable husks of sleep.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I have had dreams, but have not conquered Time,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And love shall vanish like an empty rhyme.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Richard Middleton</span></div> + + +<h3>"OH, TELL ME HOW MY GARDEN GROWS"</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Oh, tell me how my garden grows,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Now I no more may labor there;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Do still the lily and the rose<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bloom on without my fostering care?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Do peonies blush as deep with pride,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The larkspurs burn as bright a blue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And velvet pansies stare as wide<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I wonder, as they used to do?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The tender things that would not blow<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Unless I coaxed them, do they raise<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their petals in a sturdy row,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Forgetful, to the stranger's gaze?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Or do they show a paler shade,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And sigh a little in the wind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For one whose sheltering presence made<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Their step-dame Nature less unkind?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, tell me how my garden grows,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where I no more may take delight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And if some dream of me it knows,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who dream of it by day and night.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Mildred Howells</span></div> + + +<h3>HER GARDEN</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">This was her dearest walk last year. Her hands<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Set all the tiny plants, and tenderly<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pressed firm the unfamiliar soil; and she<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It was who watered them at evening time.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She loved them; and I too, because of her.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And now another June has come, while I<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Am walking in the shadow, sad, alone.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet when I reach the rose-path that was hers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And breathe the fragrancy of bud and bloom,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She stands beside; the murmur of the leaves,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The well-remembered rustle of her gown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And low her whisper comes, "My dear! My dear!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This is her garden. Only she and I—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But always we—may walk its hallowed ways;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all the thoughts she planted in my heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sunned with her smile, and chastened with her tears,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Again have blossomed—love's perennials.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Eldredge Denison</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>THE LITTLE GHOST</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">I knew her for a little ghost<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That in my garden walked,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wall is high—higher than most—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the green gate was locked;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">And yet I did not think of that<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Till after she was gone;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I knew her by the broad white hat,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All ruffled, she had on,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">By the dear ruffles round her feet,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By her small hands, that hung<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In their lace mitts, austere and sweet,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her gown's white folds among.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">I watched to see if she would stay,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What she would do,—and, oh,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She looked as if she liked the way<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I let my garden grow!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">She bent above my favorite mint<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With conscious garden grace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She smiled and smiled,—there was no hint<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of sadness in her face;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">She held her gown on either side,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To let her slippers show,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And up the walk she went with pride,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The way great ladies go;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">And where the wall is built in new,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And is of ivy bare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She paused,—then opened and passed through<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A gate that once was there.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Edna St. Vincent Millay</span></div> + + +<h3>ROSES IN THE SUBWAY</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">A wan-cheeked girl with faded eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Came stumbling down the crowded car,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Clutching her burden to her breast<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As though she held a star.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Roses, I swear it! Red and sweet<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And struggling from her pinched white hands,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Roses ... like captured hostages<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From far and fairy lands!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The thunder of the rushing train<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Was like a hush.... The flower scent<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Breathed faintly on the stale, whirled air<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like some dim sacrament—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span> +<span class="i0">I saw a garden stretching out<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And morning on it like a crown—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And o'er a bed of crimson bloom<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My mother ... stooping down.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Dana Burnet</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span></p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span></p> + +<h2>THE GARDEN OVER-SEAS</h2> + + +<h3>A GARDEN PRAYER</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0"><i>That we are mortals and on earth must dwell</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Thou knowest, Allah, and didst give us bread—</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And remembering of our souls didst give us food of flowers—</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Thy name be hallowed.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Thomas Walsh</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>IN THE GARDEN-CLOSE AT MEZRA</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">In the garden-close at Mezra,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When the cactus was in flower,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We sat apart together<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Through the languid noonday hour.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">I was her Arab lover,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">(Of course it was all in play!)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I called her "Star-of-Twilight,"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And I called her "Dream-of-Day."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">She—has she quite forgotten?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Soothly, I do not know<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If ever she tenderly opens<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The volume of Long Ago.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">But I—I can still remember<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her lips like the cactus flower<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the garden-close at Mezra<br /></span> +<span class="i2">At the languid noonday hour!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Clinton Scollard</span></div> + + +<h3>THE CACTUS</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The scarlet flower, with never a sister-leaf,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stemless, springs from the edge of the Cactus-thorn:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus from the rugged wounds of desperate grief<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A beautiful Thought, perfect and pure, is born.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Laurence Hope</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>THE WHITE PEACOCK</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Here where the sunlight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Floodeth the garden,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the pomegranate<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Reareth its glory<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of gorgeous blossom;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the oleanders<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dream through the noontides;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, like surf o' the sea<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Round cliffs of basalt,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The thick magnolias<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In billowy masses<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Front the sombre green of the ilexes:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here where the heat lies<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pale blue in the hollows,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where blue are the shadows<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the fronds of the cactus,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where pale blue the gleaming<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of fir and cypress,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the cones upon them<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Amber or glowing with virgin gold:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here where the honey-flower<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Makes the heat fragrant,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As though from the gardens<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Gulistan,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the bulbul singeth<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Through a mist of roses<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A breath were borne:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here where the dream-flowers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The cream-white poppies<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Silently waver,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And where the Scirocco,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Faint in the hollows,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Foldeth his soft white wings in the sunlight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lieth sleeping<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Deep in the heart of<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A sea of white violets:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here, as the breath, as the soul of this beauty,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Moveth in silence, and dreamlike, and slowly,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">White as a snow-drift in mountain-valleys<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When softly upon it the gold light lingers:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">White as the foam o' the sea that is driven<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er billows of azure agleam with sun-yellow:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cream-white and soft as the breasts of a girl,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Moves the White Peacock, as though through the noontide<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A dream of the moonlight were real for a moment.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dim on the beautiful fan that he spreadeth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Foldeth and spreadeth abroad in the sunlight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dim on the cream-white are blue adumbrations,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shadows so pale in their delicate blueness<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That visions they seem as of vanishing violets,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fragrant white violets veined with azure,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pale, pale as the breath of blue smoke in far woodlands.<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Here, as the breath, as the soul of this beauty,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">White as the cloud through the heats of the noontide<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Moves the White Peacock.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">William Sharp</span></div> + + +<h3>AT ISOLA BELLA</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Once at Isola Bella,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With sunset in the sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We stood on the topmost terrace—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You and I.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Around us Lago Maggiore,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Incomparably fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gave back the hues of heaven<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To the Italian air.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Then up the marble terrace<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Below the cypress trees<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Came a flock of milk-white peacocks<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With fans spread to the breeze.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Rose-pink on each outspread feather,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Rose-pink upon the crest,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Never were birds in plumage<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So ravishingly drest!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Wherever we walked they followed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Stately at our feet,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> +<span class="i0">No picture so enchanting<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Will any hour repeat.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">And here in the murky city<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Those milk-white peacocks seem<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To follow and follow me ever<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like ghosts of a haunting dream.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Jessie B. Rittenhouse</span></div> + + +<h3>THE FOUNTAIN</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">All through the deep blue night<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fountain sang alone;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It sang to the drowsy heart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the satyr carved in stone.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The fountain sang and sang<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the satyr never stirred—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Only the great white moon<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the empty heaven heard.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The fountain sang and sang<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While on the marble rim<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The milk-white peacocks slept,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And their dreams were strange and dim.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Bright dew was on the grass,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And on the ilex, dew,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> +<span class="i0">The dreamy milk-white birds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were all a-glisten, too.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The fountain sang and sang<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The things one cannot tell;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The dreaming peacocks stirred<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the gleaming dew-drops fell.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Sara Teasdale</span></div> + + +<h3>THE CHAMPA FLOWER</h3> + +<p>Supposing I became a champa flower, just for fun, and +grew on a branch high up that tree, and shook in the wind with +laughter and danced upon the newly budded leaves, would you +know me, mother?</p> + +<p>You would call, "Baby, where are you?" and I should +laugh to myself and keep quite quiet.</p> + +<p>I should slyly open my petals and watch you at your work.</p> + +<p>When after your bath, with wet hair spread on your shoulders, +you walked through the shadow of the champa tree to the +little court where you say your prayers, you would notice the +scent of the flower, but not know that it came from me.</p> + +<p>When after the midday meal you sat at the window reading +<i>Ramayana</i>, and the tree's shadow fell over your hair and your +lap, I should fling my wee little shadow on to the page of your +book, just where you were reading.</p> + +<p>But would you guess that it was the tiny shadow of your +little child?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span></p> + +<p>When in the evening you went to the cow-shed with the lighted +lamp in your hand, I should suddenly drop on to the earth again +and be your own baby once more, and beg you to tell me a story.</p> + +<p>"Where have you been, you naughty child?"</p> + +<p>"I won't tell you, mother." That's what you and I would +say then.</p> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Rabindranath Tagore</span></div> + + +<h3>IN AN EGYPTIAN GARDEN</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Can it be winter otherwhere?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Forsooth, it seems not so!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The moonlight on the garden square<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Must be the only snow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For all about me, fragrant fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The blooms of summer blow.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Wine-lipped and beautiful and bland,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The rose displays its dower;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The heavy-scented citron and<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The stainless lily-tower;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And whiter than a houri's hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">El Ful, the Arab flower.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">In purple silhouette a palm<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lifts from a vine-wreathed plinth<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Against a sky whose cloudless calm<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is hued like hyacinth;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And echoes with a bulbul's psalm<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The jasmine labyrinth.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">In life's tumultuous ocean swell<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Here is a charmèd isle;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I hear a late muezzin tell<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His holy tale the while,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And like the faint notes of a bell<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The boat-songs of old Nile.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Across my spirit thrills no theme<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That is not marvel-bright;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I see within the lotus gleam<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The nectar of delight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, tasting it, I drift and dream<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Adown the glamoured night!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Clinton Scollard</span></div> + + +<h3>EVENING IN OLD JAPAN</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Peaceful and mellow looks the sky to-night<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As some great Buddha made of ivory,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon whose brow is set a moonstone white,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The shining emblem of its purity.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> +<span class="i0">A dim blue haze like incense, rising high,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Merges together mountain, tree, and stream;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But over all still broods an ivory sky<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Cloudless as Buddha's face, one gem agleam.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Antoinette de Coursey Patterson</span></div> + + +<h3>REFLECTIONS</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">When I looked into your eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I saw a garden<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With peonies, and tinkling pagodas,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And round-arched bridges<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Over still lakes.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">A woman sat beside the water<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In a rain-blue, silken garment.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She reached through the water<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To pluck the crimson peonies<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath the surface.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">But as she grasped the stems,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They jarred and broke into white-green ripples.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And as she drew out her hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The water drops dripping from it<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stained her rain-blue dress like tears.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Amy Lowell</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>IN THE GARDEN</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Do you remember, Sister,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The golden afternoon<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When we looked upon the lotus<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And listened to the croon<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the doves that sat together<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Among the flowers of June?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">And deep among the valleys<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A far, sweet sound was heard—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some fluter in the forest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That like a magic bird<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sang of the unseen heavens<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And mystic Way and Word.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Pai Ta-Shun</span></div> + + +<h3>THE DESERTED GARDEN</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">I hear no more the swish of silks<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Along the marble walks;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The autumn wind blows sharp and cold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Among the flowerless stalks.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">In place of petals of the peach<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fast drifts the yellow leaf;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And looking in the lotus-pond<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I see one face of grief.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Pai Ta-Shun</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>A ROMAN GARDEN</h3> + +<div class="cpoem2"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">All night above that garden the rose-flushed moon will sail,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Making the darkness deeper where hides the nightingale.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Below the Sabine mountain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The tossed and slender fountain<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Will curve, a lily pale;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And where the plumed pine soars tallest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis there, O nightingale, thou callest;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the loud water leaps the highest.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis there, O nightingale, thou criest;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the dripping luscious dark,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Hark, oh, hark!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wonderful, delirious,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Soul of joy mysterious.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">A garden full of fragrances,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of pauses and of cadences,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Whence come they all?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of cypresses and ilex-trees,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Plumes and dark candles like to these<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were long ago Persephone's.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">All night within that garden<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The glimmering gods of stone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The satyrs and the naiads<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Will laugh to be alone,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> +<span class="i0">In starless courts of shadows<br /></span> +<span class="i4">By silence overgrown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Save for the nightingale's<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Wild lyric thither blown.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">By pools and dusky closes<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Dim shapes will move about,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Twirled wands and masks and faces,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dancers and wreaths of roses,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The moonlight's trick, no doubt.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A naked nymph upon the stair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A sculptured vine that clasps the air,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And then one Bacchic bird somewhere<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Will pour his passion out.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All night above that garden the rose-flushed moon will sail,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Making the darkness deeper where hides the nightingale.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Down yonder velvet alley,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Floats Daphne like a feather,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A finger bidding silence,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The dark and she together.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Look, where the secret fount is misting.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Apollo, thou shalt have thy trysting:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For where a ruined sphinx lay smiling<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wood-girl waits thee, white, beguiling.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All night above that garden the rose-flushed moon will sail,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Making the darkness deeper where hides the nightingale.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Florence Wilkinson Evans</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>COMO IN APRIL</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The wind is Winter, though the sun be Spring:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The icy rills have scarce begun to flow;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The birds unconfidently fly and sing.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">As on the land once fell the northern foe,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The hostile mountains from the passes fling<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their vandal blasts upon the lake below.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Not yet the round clouds of the Maytime cling<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Above the world's blue wonder's curving show,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And tempt to linger with their lingering.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Yet doth each slope a vernal promise know:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">See, mounting yonder, white as angel's wing.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A snow of bloom to meet the bloom of snow.<br /></span> +</div> +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Love, need we more than our imagining<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To make the whole year May? What though<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wind be Winter if the heart be Spring?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Robert Underwood Johnson</span></div> + + +<h3>AN EXILE'S GARDEN</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">I live in the heart of a garden<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With cypresses all about;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the east and west, and the south and north,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Straight shadowy paths run out.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span> +<span class="i0">There are ancient gods in my garden;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They have faces young and pale;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a hundred thousand roses here<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Enrapture the nightingale.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Yet, among the gods of the garden,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The roses and gods, I think,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Daylong, of a far-off clover field,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the song of a bob-o-link.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Sophie Jewett</span></div> + + +<h3>THE CLOISTER GARDEN AT CERTOSA</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">It is a place monastic, set above<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The city's pride and pleasuring below;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The benediction of the sky breathes love<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Over the olive trees and vines a-row.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The old gray walls are delicate to prayer<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And silence; in the corridors dim-lit<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lurks many a painting, many a fresco rare<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Done by some brother for the joy of it.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Pale lavender and red pomegranate trees,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Roses and poppies spilling garden sweets;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And tall lush grass and grain, and, circling these,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The cool of cloistral walks and shadowed seats.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> +<span class="i0">By a sun-dial in the center, rests<br /></span> +<span class="i2">One brown-robed Father; and his lips recite<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some holy word; little he heeds the jests<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of those who make the world their chief delight.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">While Florence, far below, from dreamy towers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Throws back the sun and tolls the tranquil hours.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Richard Burton</span></div> + + +<h3>A GARDEN IN VENICE</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">There is a garden in a vineyard set<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beneath the spell of Adriatic skies;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A lovely place of dreams and ecstasies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of color tangled in a verdant net,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The shimmer of the low lagoon whose fret<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Washes the garden's length, and rose that vies<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With rose, pomegranate and tall flowers that rise<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Above their fellows in one glory met.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And there I think in the still summer night,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When all the world is sleeping save the moon<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the blest nightingale who shuns the noon,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The closed flowers open out of sheer delight<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the white lilies bow their slender stalks,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For thro' them, 'neath the vines Madonna walks.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Dorothy Frances Gurney</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>IN A GARDEN OF GRANADA</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The city rumour rises all the day<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Across the potted plants along the wall;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sun and winds upon the slopes hold sway,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Tossing the dust and shadows in a squall.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The sun is old and weary—weary here<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Upon the ageing roofs and miradors,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The broken terraces and basins drear<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where each old bell its ancient echoes pours.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Ringing—what memories to ring—to those<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That linger here—the lizard and the cat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That haunt these solitudes in state morose<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Through the long day their silent habitat.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Untroubled,—save when in the moonlight steals<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Some voice in song across the lower wall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sudden magic each old rafter feels,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The while the echoes round it rise and fall.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">For as the wail of love or sorrow rings<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Along the night soft steps are on the stair<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And pathway; in the broken window wings<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Are stirring, and white arms are lolling there.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And that old rose tree lifts its head anew,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And there is perfume o'er the hills afar,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From where Alhambra's crescent cleaves the blue<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To where agleam Genil and Darro are.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">O Voice!—what is thy necromantic word<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That all Granada waits adown the years?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is it the sound some love-swept night has heard?—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The cry of love amid the cry of tears?—<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Thomas Walsh</span></div> + + +<h3>AMIEL'S GARDEN</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">His Garden! His bright candelabra trees<br /></span> +<span class="i0">En fête. His lilacs steeped in joy! His sky<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Limpid and blue! The same flecked shadows lie<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Athwart this path he paced. His reveries<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Float in the air. His moods, his ecstasies<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still linger charmed. Pale butterflies flit by—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were one his soul it had not found on high<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Banquet more choice than those infinities<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He daily knew. And now no one to hear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The hovering hours, the singing grass, to feel<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wrinkles of the soul smooth out, to see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">God's shadow bend down from eternity—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His garden empty! Yet I gently steal<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lest I disturb his dreams still smiling near.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Gertrude Huntington McGiffert</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>EDEN-HUNGER</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">O that a nest, my mate! were once more ours,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where we, by vain and barren change untutored,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Could have grave friendships with wise trees and flowers,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And live the great, green life of field and orchard!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">From the cold birthday of the daffodils,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">E'en to that listening pause that is November,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O to confide in woods, confer with hills,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And then—then, to that palmland you remember,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Fly swift, where seas that brook not Winter's rule<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Are one vast violet breaking into lilies;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There where we spent our first strange wedded Yule,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the far, golden, fire-hearted Antilles.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">William Watson</span></div> + + +<h3>THE GARDEN AT BEMERTON</h3> + +<div class="center">FOR A FLYLEAF OF HERBERT'S POEMS</div> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Year after year, from dusk to dusk,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How sweet this English garden grows,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Steeped in two centuries' sun and musk,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Walled from the world in gray repose,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Harbor of honey-freighted bees,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wealthy with the rose.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Here pinks with spices in their throats<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nod by the bitter marigold;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here nightingales with haunting notes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When west and east with stars are bold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From out the twisted hawthorn-trees,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sing back the weathers old.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">All tuneful winds do down it pass;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The leaves a sudden whiteness show,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And delicate noises fill the grass;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The only flakes its spaces know<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are petals blown off briers long,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And heaped on blades below.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Ah! dawn and dusk, year after year,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis more than these that keeps it rare!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We see the saintly Master here,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pacing along the alleys fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And catch the throbbing of a song<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Across the amber air!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Lizette Woodworth Reese</span></div> + + +<h3>IN AN OXFORD GARDEN</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">As one whose road winds upward turns his face<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unto the valleys where he late hath stood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Leaning upon his staff in peace to brood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On many a beauty of the distant place,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span> +<span class="i0">So I in this cool garden pause a space,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Reviewing many things in many a mood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Accumulating friends in solitude<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the assembly of my thoughts and days.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Arthur Upson</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span></p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span></p> + +<h2>THE HOMELY GARDEN</h2> + + +<h3>"GRANDMOTHER'S GATHERING BONESET"</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0"><i>Grandmother's gathering boneset to-day;</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>In the garret she'll dry and hang it away.</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Next winter I'll "need" some boneset tea—</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>I wish she wouldn't think always of me!</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Edith M. Thomas</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>A BREATH OF MINT</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">What small leaf-fingers veined with emerald light<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lay on my heart that touch of elfin might?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">What spirals of sharp perfume do they fling,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To blur my page with swift remembering?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Borne in a country basket marketward,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their message is a music spirit-heard,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">A pebble-hindered lilt and gurgle and run<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of tawny singing water in the sun.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Their coolness brings that ecstasy I knew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Down by the mint-fringed brook that wandered through<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">My mellow meadows set with linden-trees<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Loud with the summer jargon of the bees.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Their magic has its way with me until<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I see the storm's dark wing shadow the hill<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">As once I saw: and draw sharp breath again,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To feel their arrowy fragrance pierce the rain.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">O sudden urging sweetness in the air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Exhaled, diffused about me everywhere,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Yours is the subtlest word the summer saith,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And vanished summers sigh upon your breath.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Grace Hazard Conkling</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>A SELLER OF HERBS</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Black, comely, of abiding cheer,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Three times a week she fares,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Townward from gabled Windermere,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To sell her dainty wares.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Green balms she brings from winding lanes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And some in handfuls tall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the old days of Annes and Janes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Grown by a kitchen wall.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Keen mint has she in dewy sprigs,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With spears of violet;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the spiced bloom of elder-twigs<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In a field's hollow set.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">My snatch of May I get from her,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In white buds off a tree;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">June in one whiff of lavender,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That breaks my heart for me.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The swaying boughs of Windermere,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each gust that takes the grass,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">High over the town roar I hear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When that old stall I pass.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span> +<span class="i0">What homely memories are mine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At sight of her quaint stalks;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of grave dusks mellowing like wine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Down long, box-bordered walks;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Of garret windows eastward thrust,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of rafters shining dim,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And heaped with herbs as gray as dust<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All scented to the brim.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">This lady of the market-place,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Three times a week and more,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I pray her seasons thick with grace;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ever at her door,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Shut from the road by wall of stone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ample cherry trees,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A garden fair as Herrick's own,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And just as full of bees!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Lizette Woodworth Reese</span></div> + + +<h3>LAVENDER</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Gray walls that lichen stains,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That take the sun and the rains,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Old, stately, and wise:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Clipt yews, old lawns flag-bordered,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> +<span class="i0">In ancient ways yet ordered;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">South walks where the loud bee plies<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Daylong till Summer flies—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here grows Lavender, here breathes England.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Gay cottage gardens, glad,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Comely, unkempt, and mad,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Jumbled, jolly, and quaint;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nooks where some old man dozes;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Currants and beans and roses<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Mingling without restraint;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A wicket that long lacks paint—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here grows Lavender, here breathes England.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Sprawling for elbow-room,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Spearing straight spikes of bloom,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Clean, wayward, and tough;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sweet and tall and slender,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">True, enduring, and tender,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Buoyant and bold and bluff,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Simplest, sanest of stuff—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus grows Lavender, thence breathes England.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">W. W. Blair Fish</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>DAWN IN MY GARDEN</h3> + +<div class="cpoem2"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">I went into my garden at break of Delight,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Before Joy had risen in the Eastern sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To see how many cucumbers had happened over night,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And how much higher stood the corn that yesterday was high.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">I went into my garden when Rest had fallen away<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From the tops of blue hills, from the valleys gold and green,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To see how far the beans had travelled up into the day,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And whether all my lettuces were glad and cool and clean.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">I went into my garden when Mirth was laughing low<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Through the sharp-scented leaves of the lush tomato vines,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through the long blue-grey leaves of the turnips in a row,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where early in the every day the dew shakes and shines.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Oh, Rest had slipped away from the valleys green and gold,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From the tops of blue hills that were silent all the night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the big, round Joy was rising, busy and bold,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When I went into my garden at break of Delight!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Marguerite Wilkinson</span></div> + + +<h3>THE PROUD VEGETABLES</h3> + +<div class="cpoem2"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">In a funny little garden not much bigger than a mat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There lived a thriving family, its members all were fat;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But some were short, and some were tall, and some were almost round,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And some ran high on bamboo poles, and some lay on the ground.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Of these old Father Pumpkin was, perhaps, the proudest one.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He claimed to trace his family vine directly from the sun.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"We both are round and yellow, we both are bright," said he,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"A stronger family likeness one could scarcely wish to see."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Old Mrs. Squash hung on the fence; she had a crooked neck,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Perhaps 'twas hanging made it so,—her nerves were quite a wreck.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Near by, upon a planted row of faggots, dry and lean,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The young cucumbers climbed to swing their Indian clubs of green.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">A big white <i>daikon</i> hid in earth beneath his leafy crest;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And mole-like sweet potatoes crept around his quiet nest.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Above were growing pearly pease, and beans of many kinds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With pods like tiny castanets to mock the summer winds.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">There, in a spot that feels the sun, the swarthy egg-plant weaves<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Great webs of frosted tapestry and hangs them out for leaves.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its funny azure blossoms give a merry, shrivelled wink,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lifting up the leaves display great drops of purple ink.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Now, life went on in harmony and pleasing indolence<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till Mrs. Squash had vertigo and tumbled off the fence;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But not to earth she fell! Alas,—but down, with all her force,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon old Father Pumpkin's head, and cracked his skull, of course.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span> +<span class="i0">At this a fearful din arose. The pods began to split,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cucumbers turned a sickly hue, the <i>daikon</i> had a fit,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sweet potatoes rent the ground,—the egg-plant dropped his loom,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While every polished berry seemed to gain an added gloom.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">And, worst of all, there came a man, who once had planted them.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He dug that little family up by root and leaf and stem,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He piled them high in baskets, in a most unfeeling way—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All this was told me by the cook,—we ate the last to-day.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Mary McNeil Fenollosa</span></div> + + +<h3>THE CHOICE</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">When skies are blue and days are bright<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A kitchen-garden's my delight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Set round with rows of decent box<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And blowsy girls of hollyhocks.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Before the lark his Lauds hath done<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ere the corncrake's southward gone;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before the thrush good-night hath said<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the young Summer's put to bed.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The currant-bushes' spicy smell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Homely and honest, likes me well,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The while on strawberries I feast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And raspberries the sun hath kissed.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Beans all a-blowing by a row<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of hives that great with honey go,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With mignonette and heaths to yield<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The plundering bee his honey-field.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Sweet herbs in plenty, blue borage<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the delicious mint and sage,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rosemary, marjoram, and rue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thyme to scent the winter through.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Here are small apples growing round,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And apricots all golden-gowned,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And plums that presently will flush<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And show their bush a Burning Bush.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Cherries in nets against the wall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where Master Thrush his madrigal<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sings, and makes oath a churl is he<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who grudges cherries for a fee.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Lavender, sweet-briar, orris. Here<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall Beauty make her pomander,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her sweet-balls for to lay in clothes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That wrap her as the leaves the rose.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Take roses red and lilies white,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A kitchen-garden's my delight;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its gillyflowers and phlox and cloves,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And its tall cote of irised doves.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Katharine Tynan</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>THOUGHTS FER THE DISCURAGED FARMER</h3> + +<div class="cpoem2"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The summer winds is sniffin' round the bloomin' locus' trees;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the clover in the pastur' is a big day fer the bees,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And they been a-swiggin' honey, above board and on the sly,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tel they stutter in theyr buzzin' and stagger as they fly.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The flicker on the fence-rail 'pears to jest spit on his wings<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And roll up his feathers, by the sassy way he sings;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the hoss-fly is a-whettin'-up his forelegs fer biz,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the off-mare is a-switchin' all of her tail they is.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">You can hear the blackbirds jawin' as they foller up the plow—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, theyr bound to git theyr brekfast, and theyr not a carin' how;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So they quarrel in the furries, and they quarrel on the wing—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But theyr peaceabler in pot-pies than any other thing:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And it's when I git my shotgun drawed up in stiddy rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She's as full of tribbelation as a yeller-jacket's nest;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a few shots before dinner, when the sun's a-shinin' right,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seems to kindo'-sorto' sharpen up a feller's appetite!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">They's been a heap o' rain, but the sun's out to-day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the clouds of the wet spell is all cleared away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the woods is all the greener, and the grass is greener still;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It may rain again to-morry, but I don't think it will.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some says the crops is ruined, and the corn's drownded out,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And propha-sy the wheat will be a failure, without doubt;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the kind Providence that has never failed us yet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Will be on hand onc't more at the 'leventh hour, I bet!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Does the medder-lark complain, as he swims high and dry<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through the waves of the wind and the blue of the sky?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Does the quail set up and whissel in a disappointed way,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Er hang his head in silence, and sorrow all the day?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is the chipmuck's health a-failin'?—Does he walk, er does he run?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Don't the buzzards ooze around up thare jest like they've allus done?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is they anything the matter with the rooster's lungs er voice?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ort a mortul be complainin' when dumb animals rejoice?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Then let us, one and all, be contented with our lot;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The June is here this morning, and the sun is shining hot.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! let us fill our harts up with the glory of the day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And banish ev'ry doubt and care and sorrow fur away!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whatever be our station, with Providence fer guide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sich fine circumstances ort to make us satisfied;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fer the world is full of roses, and the roses full of dew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the dew is full of heavenly love that drips fer me and you.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">James Whitcomb Riley</span></div> + + +<h3>GRACE FOR GARDENS</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Lord God in Paradise,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Look upon our sowing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bless the little gardens<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the good green growing!<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Give us sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Give us rain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bless the orchards<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the grain!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Lord God in Paradise,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Please bless the beans and peas,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Give us corn full on the ear—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We will praise Thee, Lord, for these!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bless the blossom<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the root,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bless the seed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the fruit!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Lord God in Paradise,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Over my brown field is seen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Trembling and adventuring.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A miracle of green.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Send such grace<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As you know,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To keep it safe<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And make it grow!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Lord God in Paradise,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For the wonder of the seed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wondering, we praise you, while<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We tell you of our need.<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Look down from Paradise,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Look upon our sowing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bless the little gardens<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the good green growing!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Give us sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Give us rain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bless the orchards<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the grain!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Louise Driscoll</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span></p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span></p> + +<h2>SILVER BELLS AND COCKLE SHELLS</h2> + + +<h3>PLANTING</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0"><i>The sky is blue and soft to-day,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>The grass is green this month of May,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And Muvver with her spade and rake</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>My little garden helps me make;</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>For every one must plant more seeds</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>To grow the food that each one needs:</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Potatoes, corn, green peas, and beets,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>The kind of beans that sister eats,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>We plant in rows marked by a string,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>For neatness is the one great thing;</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>The earth is then raked smooth and pressed</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And Nature 'tends to all the rest.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Robert Livingston</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>SPRING PATCHWORK</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">If I could patch a coverlet<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From pieces of the Spring,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What dreams a happy child would have<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beneath so fair a thing!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">A center of the dear blue sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A bordering of green,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With patches of the yellow sun<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All chequered in between.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Bright ribbons of the silky grass<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Laced prettily across,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With satin of new little leaves,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And velvet of the moss.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">In every corner, violets,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Half-hidden from the view,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With many-flowered squares betwixt,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of pinky tints and blue;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Of flossy silk and gossamer,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of tissue and brocade;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A warp of rosy morning mist,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A woof of purple shade.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Embroideries of little vines,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And spider-webs of lace,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span> +<span class="i0">With tassels of the alder tied<br /></span> +<span class="i2">At each convenient place.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">With gold-thread I would sew the seams,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And needles of the pine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, never child in all the world<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Would have a quilt like mine!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Abbie Farwell Brown</span></div> + + +<h3>BABY'S VALENTINE</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Valentine, O Valentine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pretty little Love of mine;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Little Love whose yellow hair<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Makes the daffodils despair;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Little Love whose shining eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fill the stars with sad surprise:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hither turn your ten wee toes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each a tiny shut-up rose,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">End most fitting and complete<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the rosy-pinky feet;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Toddle, toddle here to me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For I'm waiting, do you see?—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Waiting for to call you mine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Valentine, O Valentine!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Valentine, O Valentine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I will dress you up so fine!<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Here's a frock of tulip-leaves,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Trimmed with lace the spider weaves;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here's a cap of larkspur blue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Just precisely made for you;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here's a mantle scarlet-dyed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Once the tiger-lily's pride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Spotted all with velvet black<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like the fire-beetle's back;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lady-slippers on your feet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now behold you all complete!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Come and let me call you mine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Valentine, O Valentine!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Valentine, O Valentine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now a wreath for you I'll twine.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I will set you on a throne<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the damask rose has blown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dropping all her velvet bloom,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Carpeting your leafy room:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here while you shall sit in pride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Butterflies all rainbow-pied,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dandy beetles gold and green,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Creeping, flying, shall be seen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Every bird that shakes his wings,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Every katydid that sings,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wasp and bee with buzz and hum.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hither, hither see them come,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Creeping all before your feet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rendering their homage meet.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But 'tis I that call you mine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Valentine, O Valentine!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Laura E. Richards</span></div> + + +<h3>BABY SEED SONG</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Little brown brother, oh! little brown brother,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Are you awake in the dark?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here we lie cosily, close to each other:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hark to the song of the lark—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Waken!" the lark says, "waken and dress you;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Put on your green coats and gay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blue sky will shine on you, sunshine caress you—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Waken! 'tis morning—'tis May!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Little brown brother, oh! little brown brother,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What kind of flower will you be?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'll be a poppy—all white, like my mother;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Do be a poppy like me.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What! you're a sun-flower? How I shall miss you<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When you're grown golden and high!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But I shall send all the bees up to kiss you;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Little brown brother, good-bye.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">E. Nesbit</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>RAIN IN THE NIGHT</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Raining, raining,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All night long;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sometimes loud, sometimes soft,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Just like a song.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">There'll be rivers in the gutters<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And lakes along the street.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It will make our lazy kitty<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wash his little dirty feet.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The roses will wear diamonds<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like kings and queens at court;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the pansies all get muddy<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Because they are so short.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">I'll sail my boat to-morrow<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In wonderful new places,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But first I'll take my watering-pot<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And wash the pansies' faces.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Amelia Josephine Burr</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>A LITTLE GIRL'S SONGS</h3> + +<div class="center">I<br /> + +<span class="smcap">Spring Song</span></div> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">I love daffodils.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I love Narcissus when he bends his head.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I can hardly keep March and spring and Sunday and daffodils<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Out of my rhyme of song.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Do you know anything about the spring<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When it comes again?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">God knows about it while winter is lasting:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flowers bring him power in the spring,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And birds bring it, and children.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He is sometimes sad and alone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Up there in the sky trying to keep his worlds happy.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I bring him songs when he is in his sadness, and weary.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I tell him how I used to wander out to study stars and the moon he made<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And flowers in the dark of the wood.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I keep reminding him about his flowers he has forgotten,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And that snowdrops are up.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What can I say to make him listen?<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span> +<span class="i0">"God," I say,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Don't you care!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nobody must be sad or sorry<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the spring-time of flowers."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="center">II<br /> + +<span class="smcap">Velvets</span><br /> + +<i>By a Bed of Pansies</i></div> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">This pansy has a thinking face<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like the yellow moon.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This one has a face with white blots:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I call him the clown.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here goes one down the grass<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With a pretty look of plumpness:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She is a little girl going to school<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With her hands in the pockets of her pinafore.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her name is Sue.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I like this one, in a bonnet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Waiting—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her eyes are so deep!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But these on the other side,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These that wear purple and blue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They are the Velvets,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The king with his cloak,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The queen with her gown,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span> +<span class="i0">The prince with his feather.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These are dark and quiet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And stay alone.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0"><i>I know you, Velvets</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Color of Dark,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Like the pine-tree on the hill</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>When stars shine!</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Hilda Conkling</span><br /> +(<i>Six years old</i>)</div> + + +<h3>WHEN SWALLOWS BUILD</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">When apple-blossom time doth come<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And with their scent the air is filled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And fields are full of buttercups,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Tis then the swallows build.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">And when the rippling brooks are deep,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Filled to the overflowing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When o'er the hills and meadows fair<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The south wind's softly blowing,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">With sun a-shining, birds a-singing<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Till their joyous throats are thrilled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And with all the world in laughter,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Tis then the swallows build.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Catherine Parmenter</span><br /> +(<i>Eleven years old</i>)</div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>SPRING PLANTING</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">"What shall we plant for our Summer, my boy,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Seeds of enchantment and seedlings of joy?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Brave little cuttings of laughter and light?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then shall our summer be flowery and bright."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">"Nay!—You are wrong in your planting," said he,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Have we not grass and the weeds and a tree?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why should we water and weary away<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For sake of a flower that lives but a day!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">So she made gardens which he would not dig,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Tended her apricot, apple and fig.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then, when one morning he chanced to appear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sadly he noticed—"No trespassing here."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Helen Hay Whitney</span></div> + + +<h3>IF I COULD DIG LIKE A RABBIT</h3> + +<div class="cpoem2"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">If I could dig holes in the ground like a rabbit,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">D'you know what I'd do?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Well, I'd dig a deep hole—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Right under that tree—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then I'd go down—and down,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And find out where the tree starts,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I'd find out how it eats and drinks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And what makes it grow....<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yes I would!<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span> +<span class="i0">P'r'aps I could dig a hole right up into that tree,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And—see—it—grow!...<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But p'r'aps I couldn't.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Anyway I could dig 'way down,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And see all the flower seeds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all the grass seeds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And under that big rock there might be some rock seeds.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I'd see everything start growing.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Do all the seeds make noises<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When they start to grow?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What do You s'pose about that?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I s'pose they sing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Cause they're so glad to come up here and see the sunshine....<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Well, anyway I'd find out all about it, 'way down there,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And then I'd want to come up home,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I'd have so much to tell to You!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">If I could dig holes like a rabbit,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That's just what I would do.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Rose Strong Hubbell</span></div> + + +<h3>THE LITTLE GOD</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Mother says there's a little god<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Lives in my garden.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I asked her—"In the tree?"—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I asked her—"In the fountain?"<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And she said, yes, that she,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Plain as plain could be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Everywhere could see<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The little god.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"What's he look like, mother?"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Oh," she said, "like the flowers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like the summer showers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like the morning dew,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like you."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She says he's everywhere<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In my garden—I can't see him there.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Katharine Howard</span></div> + + +<h3>DAISIES</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">At evening when I go to bed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I see the stars shine overhead;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They are the little daisies white<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That dot the meadow of the Night.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">And often while I'm dreaming so,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Across the sky the Moon will go;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It is a lady, sweet and fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who comes to gather daisies there.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">For, when at morning I arise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There's not a star left in the skies;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She's picked them all and dropped them down<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Into the meadows of the town.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Frank Dempster Sherman</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>THE ANXIOUS FARMER</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">It was awful long ago<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That I put those seeds around;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I guess I ought to know<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When I stuck 'em in the ground.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Cause I noted down the day<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In a little diary book,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It's gotten losted somewhere and<br /></span> +<span class="i4">I don't know where to look.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">But I'm certain anyhow<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They've been planted most a week<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And it must be time by now<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For their little sprouts to peek.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They've been watered every day<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With a very speshul care,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And once or twice I've dug 'em up to<br /></span> +<span class="i4">see if they were there.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">I fixed the dirt in humps<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Just the way they said I should;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I crumbled all the lumps<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Just as finely as I could.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I found a nangle-worm<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A-poking up his head,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He maybe feeds on seeds and such,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">and so I squushed him dead.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span> +<span class="i0">A seed's so very small,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And dirt all looks the same;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How can they know at all<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The way they ought to aim?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And so I'm waiting round<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In case of any need;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A farmer ought to do his best for<br /></span> +<span class="i4">every single seed!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Burges Johnson</span></div> + + +<h3>OVER THE GARDEN WALL</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">By the side of a wall in a garden gay,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A little Rose-bush grew;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the first dear days of the month of May,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Loved by the sun and dew.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">It gazed to the top of the wall so high<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With happy longing and pride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When it heard the children laugh and cry<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As they passed on the other side.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">And into its leaves and buds there came<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A beautiful thought of God.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"I can climb to the heights of love and fame,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">If my roots are in the sod."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Then up and over the garden-wall,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It clambered far and wide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shedding its sweetness for one and all<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As they passed on the other side,—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The weary laborer, the beggar cold,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The wise man and the fool,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The mother and daughter, the grandam old<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the children going to school.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The breezes scattered its pink and white<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In a perfumed shower for all,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the beautiful days of June were bright<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With the Rose on the Garden-wall.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Our hearts are like the Roses of June,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They can live for one and all,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Giving their love as a blessed boon,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From a palace or cottage wall.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Emily Selinger</span></div> + + +<h3>THE FLOWERPHONE</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">See the morning-glories hung<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On the vine for me to use:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hark! A flower-bell has rung,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I can talk now, if I choose.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span> +<span class="i0">"Hellow Central! Oh, hello!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Give me Puck of Fairyland—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mr. Puck, I want to know<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What I cannot understand.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">"How the leaves are scalloped out;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where's the den of Dragon Fly?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What do crickets chirp about?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where do flowers go when they die?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">"How far can a Fairy see?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Why are woodsy things afraid?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who lives in the hollow tree?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">How are cobweb carpets made?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">"Why do Fairies hide?—Hello!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What? I cannot understand—"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That's the way they always do,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They've cut me off from Fairyland!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Abbie Farwell Brown</span></div> + + +<h3>THE FAITHLESS FLOWERS</h3> + +<div class="cpoem2"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">I went this morning down to where the Johnny-Jump-Ups grow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like naughty purple faces nodding in a row.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I stayed 'most all the morning there—I sat down on a stump<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And watched and watched and watched them—and they never gave a jump!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And Golden-Glow that stands up tall and yellow by the fence,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It doesn't glow a single bit—it's only just pretence—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I ran down after tea last night to watch them in the dark—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I had to light a match to see; they didn't give a spark!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">And then the Bouncing Bets don't bounce—I tried them yesterday,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I picked a big pink bunch down in the meadow where they stay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I took a piece of string I had and tied them in a ball,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And threw them down as hard as hard—they never bounced at all!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">And tiger-lilies may look fierce, to meet them all alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All tall and black and yellowy and nodding by a stone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But they're no more like tigers than the dogwood's like a dog,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or bulrushes are like a bull or toadwort like a frog!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">I like the flowers very much—they're pleasant as can be<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For bunches on the table, and to pick and wear and see,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But still it doesn't seem quite fair—it does seem very queer—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They don't do what they're named for—not at any time of year!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Margaret Widdemer</span></div> + + +<h3>THE FLOWER-SCHOOL</h3> + +<p>When storm clouds rumble in the sky and June showers +come down,</p> + +<p>The moist east wind comes marching over the heath to blow +its bagpipes among the bamboos.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span></p> + +<p>Then crowds of flowers come out of a sudden, from nobody +knows where, and dance upon the grass in wild glee.</p> + +<p>Mother, I really think the flowers go to school underground.</p> + +<p>They do their lessons with doors shut, and if they want to +come out to play before it is time, their master makes them stand +in a corner.</p> + +<p>When the rains come down they have their holidays.</p> + +<p>Branches clash together in the forest, and the leaves rustle +in the wild wind, the thunder-clouds clap their giant hands and +the flower children rush out in dresses of pink and yellow and +white.</p> + +<p>Do you know, mother, their home is in the sky, where the +stars are.</p> + +<p>Haven't you seen how eager they are to get there? Don't +you know why they are in such a hurry?</p> + +<p>Of course, I can guess to whom they raise their arms: they +have their mother as I have my own.</p> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Rabindranath Tagore</span></div> + + +<h3>IRIS FLOWERS</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">My mother let me go with her,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">(I had been good all day),<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To see the iris flowers that bloom<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In gardens far away.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span> +<span class="i0">We walked and walked through hedges green,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Through rice-fields empty still,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To where we saw a garden gate<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beneath the farthest hill.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">She pointed out the rows of "flowers";—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I saw no planted things,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But white and purple butterflies<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Tied down with silken strings.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">They strained and fluttered in the breeze,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So eager to be free;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I begged the man to let them go,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But mother laughed at me.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">She said that they could never rise,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like birds, to heaven so blue.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But even mothers do not know<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Some things that children do.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">That night, the flowers untied themselves<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And softly stole away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To fly in sunshine round my dreams<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Until the break of day.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Mary McNeil Fenollosa</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>IF I WERE A FAIRY</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">I'd love to sit on a clover-top<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And sway,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And swing and shake, till the dew would drop<br /></span> +<span class="i4">In spray;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To croon a song for the bumble-bee<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To leave his golden honey with me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sway and swing, till the wind would stop<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To play.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">I'd weave a hammock of spider-thread<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Loose-hung,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where grasses nodded above my head<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And swung.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And all day long, while the hammock swayed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I'd twine and tangle the sun and shade,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till the crickets' song, "It is time for bed!"<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Was sung.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Then wrapped in a wee gold sunset cloud<br /></span> +<span class="i4">I'd lie,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While night winds sang to the stars that crowd<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The sky.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And all night long, I would swing and sleep<br /></span> +<span class="i2">While fireflies lighted their lamps to peep—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Oh, hush!" they'd whisper, if frogs sang loud—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">"Oh hush-a-by!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Charles Buxton Going</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>FRINGED GENTIANS</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Near where I live there is a lake<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As blue as blue can be, winds make<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It dance as they go blowing by.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I think it curtseys to the sky.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">It's just a lake of lovely flowers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And my Mamma says they are ours;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But they are not like those we grow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To be our very own, you know.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">We have a splendid garden, there<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are lots of flowers everywhere;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Roses, and pinks, and four o'clocks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hollyhocks, and evening stocks.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Mamma lets us pick them, but never<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Must we pick any gentians—ever!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For if we carried them away<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They'd die of homesickness that day.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Amy Lowell</span></div> + + +<h3>THE SCISSORS-MAN</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">As I was busy with my tools<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That make my garden neat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I heard a little crooked tune<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Come drifting up the street.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span> +<span class="i0">It didn't seem to have an end<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like others that are plain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You always felt it going on<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Till it began again.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">It came quite near: I heard it call,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And dropped my tools and ran<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To peer out through the gate;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I thought it might be Pan.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">But it was just the scissors-man<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who walked along and played<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon a little instrument<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He told me he had made.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Now, if you hope to see a god<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As hard to find as Pan,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It's sad when it turns out to be<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A plain old scissors-man.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">But when my mother came to hear<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The crooked tune he made,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She said his instrument was like<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Some pipes that Pan had played.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">And I must ask the scissors-man<br /></span> +<span class="i2">If he had ever known<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or met a queer old god who played<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On pipes much like his own.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span> +<span class="i0">He would not tell: and when I asked<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who taught him how to play,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He made that crooked tune again,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And laughed and went away.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Grace Hazard Conkling</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span></p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span></p> + +<h2>THE GARDEN OF LIFE</h2> + + +<h3>GOD'S GARDEN</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0"><i>The years are flowers and bloom within</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>Eternity's wide garden;</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>The rose for joy, the thorn for sin,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>The gardener God, to pardon</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>All wilding growths, to prune, reclaim,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And make them rose-like in His name.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Richard Burton</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>"THE LORD GOD PLANTED A GARDEN"</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The Lord God planted a garden<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the first white days of the world,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And He set there an angel warden<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In a garment of light enfurled.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">So near to the peace of Heaven,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That the hawk might nest with the wren,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For there in the cool of the even<br /></span> +<span class="i2">God walked with the first of men.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">And I dream that these garden-closes<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With their shade and their sun-flecked sod<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And their lilies and bowers of roses,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Were laid by the hand of God.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The kiss of the sun for pardon,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The song of the birds for mirth,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One is nearer God's heart in a garden<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Than anywhere else on earth.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Dorothy Frances Gurney</span></div> + + +<h3>THE LILIES</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Ever the garden has a spiritual word:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the slow lapses of unnoticed time<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It drops from heaven, or upward learns to climb,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Breathing an earthly sweetness, as a bird<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is in the porches of the morning heard;<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span> +<span class="i2">So, in the garden, flower to flower will chime,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And with the music thought and feeling rhyme,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the hushed soul is with new glory stirred.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Beauty is silent,—through the summer day<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sleeps in her gold,—O wondrous sunlit gold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Frosting the lilies, virginal array!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Green, full-leaved walls the fragrant sculpture hold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Warm, orient blooms!—how motionless are they—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Speechless—the eternal loveliness untold!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">George E. Woodberry</span></div> + + +<h3>BARTER</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Life has loveliness to sell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All beautiful and splendid things,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blue waves whitened on a cliff,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Soaring fire that sways and sings,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And children's faces looking up<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Holding wonder like a cup.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Life has loveliness to sell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Music like a curve of gold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Scent of pine trees in the rain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Eyes that love you, arms that hold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And for your spirit's still delight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Holy thoughts that star the night.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Spend all you have for loveliness,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Buy it and never count the cost;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For one white singing hour of peace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Count many a year of strife well lost,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And for a breath of ecstasy<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Give all you have been, or could be.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Sara Teasdale</span></div> + + +<h3>SONNET</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Drop me the seed, that I, even in my brain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">May be its nourishing earth. No mortal knows<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From what immortal granary comes the grain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor how the earth conspires to make the rose;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">But from the dust and from the wetted mud<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Comes help, given or taken; so with me<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Deep in my brain the essence of my blood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall give it stature until Beauty be.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">It will look down, even as the burning flower<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Smiles upon June, long after I am gone.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dust-footed Time will never tell its hour,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through dusty Time its rose will draw men on,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Through dusty Time its beauty shall make plain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Man, and, Without, a spirit scattering grain.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">John Masefield</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>THE TILLING</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The dull ox, Sorrow, treads my heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dragging the harrow, Pain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And turning the old year's tillage<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Under the sod again.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So, well do I know the Tiller<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Will bring once more the grain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For grief comes never to the strong—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor dull despair's benumbing wrong—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But from them spring a hidden throng<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of seeds, for new life fain.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">So heavily do I let the hoofs<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Trample the deeps of me;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For only thus is spirit<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Brought to fecundity.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But when the ox is stabled<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the harrow set aside,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With calm I watch a new world grow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sweetly green, up out of woe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, glad of the Tiller, then I know<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He too is satisfied.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Cale Young Rice</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>SAFE</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Now shall your beauty never fade;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For it was budding when you passed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beyond this glare, into the shade<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of fairer gardens unforecast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where, by the dreaded Gardener's spade,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beauty, transplanted once, shall ever last.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Now never shall that glorious breast<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wither, those deft hands lose their art,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor those glad shoulders be oppressed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By failing breath or fluttering heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor, from the cheek by dawn possessed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The subtle ecstasy of hue depart.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Forever shall you be your best,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nay, far more luminously shine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than when our comradeship was blessed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By what on earth seemed most divine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before your body passed to rest<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With what I then supposed this heart of mine.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Now shall your bud of beauty blow<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Far lovelier than I knew before<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When, such a little time ago,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I looked upon your face, and swore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That Helen's never moved men so<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When her white, magic hands enkindled war.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span> +<span class="i0">As you sweep on from power to power<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shall every earthward thought you think<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Irradiate my lonely hour<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Till I shall taste the golden drink<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Life, and see the full-blown flower,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whose opening bud was mine, beyond the brink.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Robert Haven Schauffler</span></div> + + +<h3>SORROW IN A GARDEN</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Here in this ancient garden<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When Winter days had flown<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I came, with Comrade Sorrow<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To dwell with her alone.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Here in this sweet seclusion<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Far from the World's cold stare<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What exquisite communings<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sorrow and I would share!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">What banquets of remembrance!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What luxury of tears!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With Sorrow in a garden<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Through the rose-scented years!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">But one day when she called me<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I did not hear her voice;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I only heard the lilies<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which sang "Rejoice, rejoice!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span> +<span class="i0">The world was gold and azure<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The air was sweet with birds;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My garden laughed with rapture<br /></span> +<span class="i2">How could I hear her words?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">For June was in the garden<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And June was in my heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And since that hour pale Sorrow<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And I have dwelt apart.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">But often in the twilight<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When birds and gardens sleep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I feel her presence with me<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her arms about me creep.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">And when the ghosts of Summer<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With the dead roses talk,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I hear her softly sobbing<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Along the moonlit walk.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">I never can forget her<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So intimate were we!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But Sorrow, in my garden<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Abides no more with me.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">May Riley Smith</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>MOTH-FLOWERS</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The pale moth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Trembles in the white moonlight;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus my heart trembles with love!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The rose petals fall—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The red petals of my heart;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, the breath of love!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Cool, sweet tears<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of honey, the jasmine weeps;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Burning fall the tears of love.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Oh, how bitter<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is the White Poppy, Death;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There are no more dreams of love.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Jeanne Robert Foster</span></div> + + +<h3>ALCHEMY</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">I lift my heart as spring lifts up<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A yellow daisy to the rain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My heart will be a lovely cup<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Altho' it holds but pain.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">For I shall learn from flower and leaf<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That color every drop they hold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To change the lifeless wine of grief<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To living gold.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Sara Teasdale</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>FLOWERS IN THE DARK</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Late in the evening, when the room had grown<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Too hot and tiresome with its flaring light<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And noisy voices, I stole out alone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Into the darkness of the summer night.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Down the long garden-walk I slowly went,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A little wind was stirring in the trees;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I only saw the whitest of the flowers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I was sorry that the earlier hours<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of that fair evening had been so ill spent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Because I said, "I am content with these<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dear friends of mine who only speak to me<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With their delicious fragrance, and who tell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To me their gracious welcome silently."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The leaves that touch my hand with dew are wet;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I find the tall white lilies I love well.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I linger as I pass the mignonette,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And what surprise could clearer be than this:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To find my sweet rose waiting with a kiss!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Sarah Orne Jewett</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>WELCOME</h3> + +<div class="cpoem2"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">There is a hillside garden that their tender hands have tended,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Below a house that holds for me a shrine of joy and light.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And there beneath a cloudless sun when June is warm and splendid<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I see them coming home to me, three girls in garments white.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Alice with lilies in her hands, and little dark Dolores<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Showing her glowing marigolds; and Iris last of all<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Under the arbor by the wall of purple morning-glories,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bringing my crimson ramblers back that sought to scale the wall.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Alice with smiles along her lips; Dolores still and tender;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Iris whose eyes can tell me more than tongue shall ever say;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They offer to my open arms their bodies soft and slender,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bringing the best of summer here, they garlanded to-day.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Into my study they have swept, and brasses from Benares,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Vases from Venice they have filled, and hung their wreaths around<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The portrait where their mother smiles like the tall tranquil Maries<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That Perugino used to paint, with hair like sunlight crowned.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span> +<span class="i0">"Mother is coming home to-day." (The words themselves are singing.)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"How long it is," our litany, forgotten, they repeat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Making their last response to love, their last oblation bringing<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till at the hour of evensong, their voices still more sweet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tremble and sanctify the house where happy hearts shall meet.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">John Curtis Underwood</span></div> + + +<h3>THE CHILD IN THE GARDEN</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">When to the garden of untroubled thought<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I came of late, and saw the open door,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And wished again to enter, and explore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sweet, wild ways with stainless bloom inwrought<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And bowers of innocence with beauty fraught,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It seemed some purer voice must speak before<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I dared to tread that garden loved of yore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That Eden lost unknown and found unsought.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Then just within the gate I saw a child,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A stranger-child, yet to my heart most dear;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He held his hands to me, and softly smiled<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With eyes that knew no shade of sin or fear:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Come in," he said, "and play awhile with me;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I am the little child you used to be."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Henry van Dyke</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>A WONDER GARDEN</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">"And a little child shall lead them"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Into her world, beneath her smiling skies;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A little child with wide, wondering eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Deep with the mystery that in them lies.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her soft hand plucks a stem asunder,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And with the dream that is a part<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of Childhood's heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She questions:<br /></span> +<span class="i4">"Now I want to wonder!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">She "wants to wonder" how so fair a thing<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is born; from what it springs, and why it blooms:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whence comes its sweet, elusive odor rare,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The garnered fragrance of a hundred Junes.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was it all planned,—or just some lovely blunder?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thus gazing, with the seeking look that lies<br /></span> +<span class="i4">In Childhood's eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She questions:<br /></span> +<span class="i4">"Now I want to wonder!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Dear Child, your groping mind seeks far and true:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mankind and Nature,—all "want to wonder" too.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Frederic A. Whiting</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>FROM A CAR-WINDOW</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Pines, and a blur of lithe young grasses;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Gold in a pool, from the western glow;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Spread of wings where the last thrush passes—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And thoughts of you as the sun dips low.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Quiet lane, and an irised meadow ...<br /></span> +<span class="i2">(<i>How many summers have died since then?</i>) ...<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I wish you knew how the deepening shadow<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lies on the blue and green again!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Dusk, and the curve of field and hollow<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Etched in gray when a star appears:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sunset,... twilight,... and dark to follow,...<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And thoughts of you thro' a mist of tears.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Ruth Guthrie Harding</span></div> + + +<h3>SONG OF THE WEARY TRAVELLER</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">I am weary. I would rest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the wide earth's swelling breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nurtured by the quiet sod<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the fragrant dew has trod,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Soothed by all the winds that pass,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hearing voices in the grass<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the little insect things<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Happier than the mightiest kings!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span> +<span class="i0">I am weary. I would sleep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In some quiet perfumed deep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where no human touch could bring<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tears to me or anything.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There I would forget to weep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And my silent cloister keep,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There I would the earth embrace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Meeting Beauty face to face.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">I am weary. I would go<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the fields are white with snow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the violets are lain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far from human strife and pain—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far from longing and delight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thro' the endless starry night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There I would forget to weep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And my silent cloister keep.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Blanche Shoemaker Wagstaff</span></div> + + +<h3>COBWEBS</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Who would not praise thee, miracle of Frost?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some gesture overnight, some breath benign,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lo! the tree's a fountain all a-shine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The hedge a throne of unimagined cost;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In wheel and fan along a wall embossed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The spider's humble handiwork shows fine<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span> +<span class="i0">With jewels girdling every airy line;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though the small mason in the cold be lost.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Web after web, a morning snare of bliss<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Starring with beauty the whole neighbourhood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">May well beget an envy clean and good.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When man goes too into the earth-abyss,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And God in His altered garden walks, I would<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My secret woof might gleam so fair as this.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Louise Imogen Guiney</span></div> + + +<h3>BLIND</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The Spring blew trumpets of color;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her Green sang in my brain—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I heard a blind man groping<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Tap—tap" with his cane;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">I pitied him his blindness;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But can I boast, "I see?"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Perhaps there walks a spirit<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Close by, who pities me,—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">A spirit who hears me tapping<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The five-sensed cane of mind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Amid such unguessed glories—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That I—am worse than blind!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Harry Kemp</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>HERB OF GRACE</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">I do not know what sings in me—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I only know it sings<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When pale the stars, and every tree<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is glad with waking wings.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">I only know the air is sweet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With wondrous flowers unseen—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That unaccountably complete<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is June's accustomed green.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The wind has magic in its touch;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Strange dreams the sunsets give.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Life I have questioned overmuch—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To-day, I live.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Amelia Josephine Burr</span></div> + + +<h3>BEFORE MARY OF MAGDALA CAME</h3> + +<blockquote><p>Now in the place where he was crucified there was a garden; and in the garden +a new sepulchre.... The first day of the week cometh Mary Magdalene early +... unto the sepulchre.... And ... she turned herself back, and saw Jesus +standing.... Jesus saith unto her, Mary. She turned herself, and saith unto +him ... Master. St. John.</p></blockquote> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">From silvering mid-sea to the Syrian sand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It was the time of blossom in the land.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On field and hill and down the steep ravine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ran foam and fire of bloom and ripple of green.<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span> +<span class="i0">The Sepulchre was open wide, and thrown<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Among the crushed, hurt lilies lay the Stone.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A light wind stirred the Garden: everywhere<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The smell of myrrh was out upon the air.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For three days He had traveled with the dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And now was risen to go with stiller tread<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The old earth ways again,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To stay the heart and build the hope of men.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He made a luster in that leafy place,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His form serene, majestical; His face<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Touched with a cryptic beauty like the sea<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lit by the moon when night begins to be.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The cold gray east was warming into rose<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beyond the steep ravine where Kedron goes.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now suddenly on the morning faint with flame<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Jerusalem with all her clamors came—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A snarl of noises from the far-off street,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dispute and barter and the clack of feet.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A moment it brawled upward and was gone—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Faded, forgotten in the deep still dawn.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He passed across the morning: felt the cool,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Keen, kindling air blown upward from the pool.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A busy wind brought little tender smells<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From barley fields and weeds by April wells.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Up in the tree-tops where the breezes ran<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The old sweet noises in the nests began;<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And once He paused to listen while a bird<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shouted the joy till all the Garden heard.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">There in the morning, on the old worn ways—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">New-risen from the sacrament of death—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He looked toward Olivet with tender gaze:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Old things of the heart came back from other days—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The happy, homely shop in Nazareth;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The noonday shadow of a wayside tree<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That had befriended Him in Galilee;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sweet talks in Bethany by the chimney stone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And night-long lingering talks with John alone.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And then He thought of all the weary men<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He would have gathered as a mother hen<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gathers her brood under her wings at night.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And then He saw the ages in one flight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And heard as a great sea<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All of the griefs that had been and must be....<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">As He stood looking on the endless sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Over the Garden went a sobbing cry.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He turned, and saw where the tall almonds are<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His Mary of Magdala, wildly pale,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fast-fleeting down the trail,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And suddenly His face was like a star!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He spoke; she knew—a blaze of happy tears;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then "Master!" ... and the word rings down the years!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Edwin Markham</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>CONSCIENCE</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Wisdom am I<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When thou art but a fool;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My part the man,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When thou hast played the clod;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hast lost thy garden?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When the eve is cool,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Harken!—'tis I who walk<br /></span> +<span class="i2">There with thy God!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Margaret Steele Anderson</span></div> + + +<h3>ROSA MYSTICA</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">This rose so exquisite,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So perfect, so complete,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beauty beyond all price,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the hour it dies.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">God makes Him roses fast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With such magnificent haste,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Multitudes, multitudes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In gardens, fields and woods.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The roses tell His praise<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their little length of days;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Testify to His name,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gold on gold, flame on flame.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span> +<span class="i0">They are scarce here, scarce blown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But they are gone, are flown;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The gardener's broom must sweep them<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And in the darkness heap them.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Drift of rose-leaves upon<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The garden-bed, the lawn:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The exquisite thought of God<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is scattered, wasted abroad.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">What of the soul of the rose?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It shall not die with those;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It shall wake, shall live again<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In God's rose-garden.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">It shall climb rose-trellises<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before God's palaces;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Eternal Rose shall cover<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The House of God all over.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">She shall breathe out her soul<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yet living, made whole,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall offer her oblation<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Out of her purest passion.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">She shall know all bliss<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where God's garden is:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The rose drinking her fill is<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of joy with her sister lilies.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Where the Water of Life sweet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bathes her from head to feet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The River of Life flows—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There is the Rose.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Katharine Tynan</span></div> + + +<h3>THE MYSTERY</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">He came and took me by the hand<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Up to a red rose tree,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He kept His meaning to Himself<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But gave a rose to me.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">I did not pray Him to lay bare<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The mystery to me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Enough the rose was Heaven to smell<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And His own face to see.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Ralph Hodgson</span></div> + + +<h3>THE ROSE</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">And so must life be many-veined;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The loves that hurt, the fate that blent<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My life with myriad lives and ways,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The processes that probed and pained,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The pencillings of nights and days—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cross currents, tangling as they went,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With oh, such conflict in my soul!—<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span> +<span class="i0">How should I know that they were meant<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Just to make living sweet and whole,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Just to unclose<br /></span> +<span class="i0">God's perfect rose?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Angela Morgan</span></div> + + +<h3>FOR THESE</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">An acre of land between the shore and the hills,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon a ledge that shows my Kingdoms three,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The lovely visible earth and sky and sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where what the curlew needs not, the farmer tills:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">A house that shall love me as I love it,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Well-hedged, and honoured by a few ash trees<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That linnets, greenfinches, and goldfinches<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall often visit and make love in and flit;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">A garden I need never go beyond,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Broken but neat, whose sunflowers every one<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are fit to be the sign of the Rising Sun:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A spring, a brook's bend, or at least a pond!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">For these I ask not, but neither too late<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor yet too early, for what men call content,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And also that something may be sent<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To be contented with, I ask of fate.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Edward Thomas</span> (<span class="smcap">Edward Eastaway</span>)</div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>SAMUEL GARDNER</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">I who kept the greenhouse,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lover of trees and flowers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oft in life saw this umbrageous elm,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Measuring its generous branches with my eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And listened to its rejoicing leaves<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lovingly patting each other<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With sweet æolian whispers.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And well they might:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the roots had grown so wide and deep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That the soil of the hill could not withhold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Aught of its virtue, enriched by rain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And warmed by the sun;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But yielded it all to the thrifty roots,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through which it was drawn and whirled to the trunk,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thence to the branches, and into the leaves,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wherefrom the breeze took life and sang.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now I, an under-tenant of the earth, can see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That the branches of a tree<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Spread no wider than its roots.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And how shall the soul of a man<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be larger than the life he has lived?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Edgar Lee Masters</span></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>SEEDS</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">What shall we be like when<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We cast this earthly body and attain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To immortality?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What shall we be like then?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Ah, who shall say<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What vast expansions shall be ours that day?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What transformations of this house of clay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To fit the heavenly mansions and the light of day?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah, who shall say?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">But this we know,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We drop a seed into the ground,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A tiny, shapeless thing, shrivelled and dry,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, in the fulness of its time, is seen<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A form of peerless beauty, robed and crowned<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beyond the pride of any earthly queen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Instinct with loveliness, and sweet and rare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The perfect emblem of its Maker's care.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">This from a shrivelled seed?—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">—Then may man hope indeed!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">For man is but the seed of what he shall be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When, in the fulness of his perfecting,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span> +<span class="i0">He drops the husk and cleaves his upward way,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through earth's retardings and the clinging clay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Into the sunshine of God's perfect day.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No fetters then! No bonds of time or space!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But powers as ample as the boundless grace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That suffered man, and death, and yet, in tenderness,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Set wide the door, and passed Himself before—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As He had promised—to prepare a place.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Yea, we may hope!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For we are seeds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dropped into earth for heavenly blossoming.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Perchance, when comes the time of harvesting,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His loving care<br /></span> +<span class="i0">May find some use for even a humble tare.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">We know not what we shall be—only this—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That we shall be made like Him—as He is.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">John Oxenham</span></div> + + +<h3>"LORD, I ASK A GARDEN"</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Lord, I ask a garden in a quiet spot<br /></span> +<span class="i0">where there may be a brook with a good flow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">an humble little house covered with bell-flowers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and a wife and a son who shall resemble Thee.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span> +<span class="i0">I should wish to live many years, free from hates,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and make my verses, as the rivers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">that moisten the earth, fresh and pure.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lord, give me a path with trees and birds.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">I wish that you would never take my mother,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">for I should wish to tend her as a child<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and put her to sleep with kisses, when somewhat old<br /></span> +<span class="i0">she may need the sun.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">R. Arevalo Martinez</span></div> + + +<h3>MY FLOWER-ROOM</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">My flower-room is such a little place,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Scarce twenty feet by nine, yet in that space<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I have met God; yea, many a radiant hour<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have talked with Him, the All-Embracing Cause,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">About His laws.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he has shown me, in each vine and flower,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such miracles of power<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That day by day this flower-room of mine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Has come to be a shrine.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Fed by the self-same soil and atmosphere,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pale, tender shoots appear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rising to greet the light in that sweet room.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One speeds to crimson bloom,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One slowly creeps to unassuming grace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One climbs, one trails,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span> +<span class="i0">One drinks the light and moisture,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One exhales.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Up through the earth together, stem by stem,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Two plants push swiftly in a floral race,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till one sends forth a blossom like a gem,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And one gives only fragrance.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In a seed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So small it scarce is felt within the hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lie hidden such delights<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of scents and sights,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When by the elements of Nature freed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As paradise must have at its command.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">From shapeless roots and ugly bulbous things,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What gorgeous beauty springs!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such infinite variety appears,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A hundred artists in a hundred years<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Could never copy from a floral world<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The marvels that in leaf and bud lie curled.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor could the most colossal mind of man<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Create one little seed of plant or vine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Without assistance from the First Great Plan,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Without the aid divine.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Who but a God<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Could draw from light and moisture, heat and cold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And fashion in earth's mold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A multitude of blooms to deck one sod?<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Who but a God?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not one man knows<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Just why the bloom and fragrance of the rose,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or how its tints were blent;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or why the white camellia, without scent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Up through the same soil grows;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or how the daisy and the violet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And blades of grass first on wild meadows met.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not one, not one man knows,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wisest but suppose.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This flower-room of mine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Has come to be a shrine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I go hence<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each day with larger faith and reverence.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Ella Wheeler Wilcox</span></div> + + +<h3>"VESTURED AND VEILED WITH TWILIGHT"</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Vestured and veiled with twilight,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lulled in the winter's ease,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dim, and happy, and silent,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My garden dreams by its trees.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Urn of the sprayless fountain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Glimmering nymph and faun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gleam through the dark-plumed cedar,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fade on the dusky lawn.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Here is no stir of summer,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Here is no pulse of spring;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Never a bud to burgeon,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Never a bird to sing.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Dreams—and the kingdom of quiet!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Only the dead leaves lie<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Over the fallen roses<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Under the shrouded sky.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Folded and fenced with silence<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Mindless of moil and mart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It is twilight here in my garden,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And twilight here in my heart.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Rosamund Marriott Watson</span></div> + + +<h3>THE FRUIT GARDEN PATH</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">The path runs straight between the flowering rows,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A moonlit path hemmed in by beds of bloom,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where phlox and marigolds dispute for room<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With tall, red dahlias and the briar rose.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis reckless prodigality which throws<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Into the night these wafts of rich perfume<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which sweep across the garden like a plume.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Over the trees a single bright star glows.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dear garden of my childhood, here my years<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have run away like little grains of sand;<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span> +<span class="i2">The moments of my life, its hopes and fears<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have all found utterance here, where now I stand;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My eyes ache with the weight of unshed tears,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You are my home, do you not understand?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Amy Lowell</span></div> + + +<h3>WOOD SONG</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">I heard a woodthrush in the dusk<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Twirl three notes and make a star—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My heart that walked with bitterness<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Came back from very far.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Three shining notes were all he had,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And yet they made a starry call—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I caught life back against my breast<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And kissed it, scars and all.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Sara Teasdale</span></div> + + +<h3>A PRAYER</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Teach me, Father, how to go<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Softly as the grasses grow;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hush my soul to meet the shock<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the wild world as a rock;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But my spirit, propt with power,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Make as simple as a flower.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let the dry heart fill its cup,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like a poppy looking up;<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Let life lightly wear her crown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like a poppy looking down,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When its heart is filled with dew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And its life begins anew.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Teach me, Father, how to be<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Kind and patient as a tree.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Joyfully the crickets croon<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Under shady oak at noon;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beetle, on his mission bent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tarries in that cooling tent.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let me, also, cheer a spot,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hidden field or garden grot—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Place where passing souls can rest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the way and be their best.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Edwin Markham</span></div> + + +<h3>THE PHILOSOPHER'S GARDEN</h3> + +<div class="cpoem1"><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i2">"<i>See this my garden,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>Large and fair!</i>"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">—Thus, to his friend,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Philosopher.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">"<i>'Tis not too long</i>,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His friend replied,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With truth exact,—<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span> +<span class="i2">"<i>Nor yet too wide.</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>But well compact,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>If somewhat cramped</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>On every side.</i>"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">Quick the reply—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"<i>But see how high!—</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>It reaches up</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>To God's blue sky!</i>"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">John Oxenham</span></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span></p> + + +<h2>INDEX OF TITLES</h2> + + +<ul class="IX"> +<li>Ære Perennius, <i>Charles Hanson Towne</i>, <a href="#Page_139">139</a>.</li> +<li>Afternoon on a Hill, <i>Edna St. Vincent Millay</i>, <a href="#Page_115">115</a>.</li> +<li>Alchemy, <i>Sara Teasdale</i>, <a href="#Page_262">262</a>.</li> +<li>Amiel's Garden, <i>Gertrude Huntington McGiffert</i>, <a href="#Page_211">211</a>.</li> +<li>Anxious Farmer, The, <i>Burges Johnson</i>, <a href="#Page_242">242</a>.</li> +<li>April Morning, An, <i>Bliss Carman</i>, <a href="#Page_23">23</a>.</li> +<li>April Rain, <i>Conrad Aiken</i>, <a href="#Page_25">25</a>.</li> +<li>April Weather, <i>Lizette Woodworth Reese</i>, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>.</li> +<li>Arbutus, <i>Adelaide Crapsey</i>, <a href="#Page_111">111</a>.</li> +<li>As in a Rose-Jar, <i>Thomas S. Jones, Jr.</i>, <a href="#Page_168">168</a>.</li> +<li>Asking for Roses, <i>Robert Frost</i>, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>.</li> +<li>At Isola Bella, <i>Jessie B. Rittenhouse</i>, <a href="#Page_198">198</a>.</li> +<li>Autumn Rose, The, <i>Antoinette De Coursey Patterson</i>, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>.</li> +<li>Autumnal, <i>Richard Middleton</i>, <a href="#Page_186">186</a>.</li> +<li>Awakening, The, <i>Angela Morgan</i>, <a href="#Page_149">149</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<ul class="IX"> +<li>Baby Seed Song, <i>E. Nesbit</i>, <a href="#Page_234">234</a>.</li> +<li>Baby's Valentine, <i>Laura E. Richards</i>, <a href="#Page_232">232</a>.</li> +<li>Ballade of the Dreamland Rose, <i>Brian Hooker</i>, <a href="#Page_181">181</a>.</li> +<li>Barter, <i>Sara Teasdale</i>, <a href="#Page_256">256</a>.</li> +<li>Before Mary of Magdala came, <i>Edwin Markham</i>, <a href="#Page_270">270</a>.</li> +<li>Beyond, <i>Thomas S. Jones, Jr.</i>, <a href="#Page_36">36</a>.</li> +<li>Birth of the Flowers, The, <i>Mary McNeil Fenollosa</i>, <a href="#Page_18">18</a>.</li> +<li>Blind, <i>Harry Kemp</i>, <a href="#Page_269">269</a>.</li> +<li>Blooming of the Rose, The, <i>Anna Hempstead Branch</i>, <a href="#Page_179">179</a>.</li> +<li>Blossomy Barrow, The, <i>T. A. Daly</i>, <a href="#Page_40">40</a>.</li> +<li>Boulders, <i>Charles Wharton Stork</i>, <a href="#Page_114">114</a>.</li> +<li>Breath of Mint, A, <i>Grace Hazard Conkling</i>, <a href="#Page_217">217</a>.</li> +<li>But we did walk in Eden, <i>Josephine Preston Peabody</i>, <a href="#Page_125">125</a>.</li> +<li>Butterfly, The, <i>Edwin Markham</i>, <a href="#Page_76">76</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<ul class="IX"> +<li>Cactus, The, <i>Laurence Hope</i>, <a href="#Page_195">195</a>.</li> +<li>Cardinal-Bird, The, <i>Arthur Guiterman</i>, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>.</li> +<li>Champa Flower, The, <i>Rabindranath Tagore</i>, <a href="#Page_200">200</a>.</li> +<li>Charm: To be said in the Sun, <i>Josephine Preston Peabody</i>, <a href="#Page_11">11</a>.</li> +<li>Child in the Garden, The, <i>Henry van Dyke</i>, <a href="#Page_265">265</a>.</li> +<li>Choice, The, <i>Katharine Tynan</i>, <a href="#Page_223">223</a>.</li> +<li>Cloister Garden at Certosa, The, <i>Richard Burton</i>, <a href="#Page_208">208</a>.</li> +<li>Cloud and Flower, <i>Agnes Lee</i>, <a href="#Page_124">124</a>.</li> +<li>Clover, <i>John B. Tabb</i>, <a href="#Page_105">105</a>.</li> +<li>Cobwebs, <i>Louise Imogen Guiney</i>, <a href="#Page_268">268</a>.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span></li> +<li>Colonial Garden, A, <i>James B. Kenyan</i>, <a href="#Page_86">86</a>.</li> +<li>Color Notes, <i>Charles Wharton Stork</i>, <a href="#Page_50">50</a>.</li> +<li>Columbines, <i>Arthur Guiterman</i>, <a href="#Page_39">39</a>.</li> +<li>Como in April, <i>Robert Underwood Johnson</i>, <a href="#Page_207">207</a>.</li> +<li>Conscience, <i>Margaret Steele Anderson</i>, <a href="#Page_273">273</a>.</li> +<li>Cricket in the Path, The, <i>Amelia Josephine Burr</i>, <a href="#Page_73">73</a>.</li> +<li>Crocus Flame, The, <i>Clinton Scollard</i>, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<ul class="IX"> +<li>Da Thief, <i>T. A. Daly</i>, <a href="#Page_143">143</a>.</li> +<li>Daffodils, <i>Ruth Guthrie Harding</i>, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>.</li> +<li>Daisies, <i>Frank Dempster Sherman</i>, <a href="#Page_241">241</a>.</li> +<li>Daisy, To a, <i>Alice Meynell</i>, <a href="#Page_109">109</a>.</li> +<li>Dandelion, The, <i>Vachel Lindsay</i>, <a href="#Page_107">107</a>.</li> +<li>Dawn in my Garden, <i>Marguerite Wilkinson</i>, <a href="#Page_221">221</a>.</li> +<li>Deserted Garden, The, <i>Pai Ta-Shun</i>, <a href="#Page_204">204</a>.</li> +<li>Dews, The, <i>John B. Tabb</i>, <a href="#Page_9">9</a>.</li> +<li>Dials, The, <i>Arthur Wallace Peach</i>, <a href="#Page_12">12</a>.</li> +<li>"Draw closer, O ye trees," <i>Lloyd Mifflin</i>, <a href="#Page_159">159</a>.</li> +<li>Dream, A, <i>Antoinette De Coursey Patterson</i>, <a href="#Page_129">129</a>.</li> +<li>Dusty Hour-Glass, The, <i>Amy Lowell</i>, <a href="#Page_176">176</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<ul class="IX"> +<li>Early Gods, The, <i>Witter Bynner</i>, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>.</li> +<li>Earth, <i>John Hall Wheelock</i>, <a href="#Page_2">2</a>.</li> +<li>Eden-Hunger, <i>William Watson</i>, <a href="#Page_212">212</a>.</li> +<li>Egyptian Garden, In an, <i>Clinton Scollard</i>, <a href="#Page_201">201</a>.</li> +<li>End of Summer, The, <i>Edna St. Vincent Millay</i>, <a href="#Page_49">49</a>.</li> +<li>Evening in Old Japan, <i>Antoinette De Coursey Patterson</i>, <a href="#Page_202">202</a>.</li> +<li>Ever the Same, <i>Josephine Preston Peabody</i>, <a href="#Page_140">140</a>.</li> +<li>Exile's Garden, An, <i>Sophie Jewett</i>, <a href="#Page_207">207</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<ul class="IX"> +<li>Faithless Flowers, The, <i>Margaret Widdemer</i>, <a href="#Page_245">245</a>.</li> +<li>Family Trees, <i>Douglas Malloch</i>, <a href="#Page_156">156</a>.</li> +<li>Fireflies, <i>Antoinette De Coursey Patterson</i>, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>.</li> +<li>Flower-School, The, <i>Rabindranath Tagore</i>, <a href="#Page_246">246</a>.</li> +<li>Flowerphone, The, <i>Abbie Farwell Brown</i>, <a href="#Page_244">244</a>.</li> +<li>Flowers in the Dark, <i>Sarah Orne Jewett</i>, <a href="#Page_263">263</a>.</li> +<li>Flowers of June, The, <i>James Terry White</i>, <a href="#Page_183">183</a>.</li> +<li>For These, <i>Edward Thomas</i>, <a href="#Page_276">276</a>.</li> +<li>Fountain, The, <i>Harry Kemp</i>, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>.</li> +<li>Fountain, The, <i>Sara Teasdale</i>, <a href="#Page_199">199</a>.</li> +<li>Four O'Clocks, <i>Julia C. R. Dorr</i>, <a href="#Page_91">91</a>.</li> +<li>Fringed Gentians, <i>Amy Lowell</i>, <a href="#Page_250">250</a>.</li> +<li>From a Car-Window, <i>Ruth Guthrie Harding</i>, <a href="#Page_267">267</a>.</li> +<li>"Frost to-night," <i>Edith M. Thomas</i>, <a href="#Page_54">54</a>.</li> +<li>Fruit Garden Path, The, <i>Amy Lowell</i>, <a href="#Page_283">283</a>.</li> +<li>Furrow, The, <i>Padraic Colum</i>, <a href="#Page_3">3</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<ul class="IX"> +<li>Garden, The, <i>Gertrude Huntington McGiffert</i>, <a href="#Page_80">80</a>.</li> +<li>Garden, The, <i>Alice Meynell</i>, <a href="#Page_123">123</a>.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span></li> +<li>Garden at Bemerton, The, <i>Lizette Woodworth Reese</i>, <a href="#Page_212">212</a>.</li> +<li>Garden Friend, A, <i>Catherine Markham</i>, <a href="#Page_152">152</a>.</li> +<li>Garden in August, The, <i>Gertrude Huntington McGiffert</i>, <a href="#Page_46">46</a>.</li> +<li>Garden in Venice, A, <i>Dorothy Frances Gurney</i>, <a href="#Page_209">209</a>.</li> +<li>Garden of Dreams, The, <i>Bliss Carman</i>, <a href="#Page_169">169</a>.</li> +<li>Garden of Mnemosyne, The, <i>Rosamund Marriott Watson</i>, <a href="#Page_181">181</a>.</li> +<li>Garden-Piece, A, <i>Edmund Gosse</i>, <a href="#Page_126">126</a>.</li> +<li>Garden Prayer, A, <i>Thomas Walsh</i>, <a href="#Page_194">194</a>.</li> +<li>"Go down to Kew in lilac-time," <i>Alfred Noyes</i>, <a href="#Page_35">35</a>.</li> +<li>God's Garden, <i>Richard Burton</i>, <a href="#Page_254">254</a>.</li> +<li>Golden Bowl, The, <i>Mary McMillan</i>, <a href="#Page_51">51</a>.</li> +<li>Golden-Rod, The, <i>Margaret Deland</i>, <a href="#Page_116">116</a>.</li> +<li>Goldfinch, The, <i>Odell Shepard</i>, <a href="#Page_63">63</a>.</li> +<li>Grace for Gardens, <i>Louise Driscoll</i>, <a href="#Page_226">226</a>.</li> +<li>"Grandmother's gathering boneset," <i>Edith M. Thomas</i>, <a href="#Page_216">216</a>.</li> +<li>Green o' the Spring, The, <i>Denis A. McCarthy</i>, <a href="#Page_22">22</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<ul class="IX"> +<li>Haunted Garden, A, <i>Louis Untermeyer</i>, <a href="#Page_174">174</a>.</li> +<li>Heart's Garden, <i>Norreys Jephson O'Conor</i>, <a href="#Page_133">133</a>.</li> +<li>Her Garden, <i>Eldredge Denison</i>, <a href="#Page_189">189</a>.</li> +<li>Her Garden, <i>Louis Dodge</i>, <a href="#Page_139">139</a>.</li> +<li>Herb of Grace, <i>Amelia Josephine Burr</i>, <a href="#Page_270">270</a>.</li> +<li>Homesick, <i>Julia C. R. Dorr</i>, <a href="#Page_170">170</a>.</li> +<li>"How many flowers are gently met," <i>George Sterling</i>, <a href="#Page_127">127</a>.</li> +<li>Hummingbird, The, <i>Hermann Hagedorn</i>, <a href="#Page_61">61</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<ul class="IX"> +<li>"I meant to do my work to-day," <i>Richard Le Gallienne</i>, <a href="#Page_60">60</a>.</li> +<li>Idealists, <i>Alfred Kreymborg</i>, <a href="#Page_158">158</a>.</li> +<li>If I could dig like a Rabbit, <i>Rose Strong Hubbell</i>, <a href="#Page_239">239</a>.</li> +<li>If I were a Fairy, <i>Charles Buxton Going</i>, <a href="#Page_249">249</a>.</li> +<li>In a Garden, <i>Livingston L. Biddle</i>, <a href="#Page_131">131</a>.</li> +<li>In a Garden, <i>Horace Holley</i>, <a href="#Page_7">7</a>.</li> +<li>In a Garden of Granada, <i>Thomas Walsh</i>, <a href="#Page_210">210</a>.</li> +<li>In an Egyptian Garden, <i>Clinton Scollard</i>, <a href="#Page_201">201</a>.</li> +<li>In an Old Garden, <i>Madison Cawein</i>, <a href="#Page_169">169</a>.</li> +<li>In an Oxford Garden, <i>Arthur Upson</i>, <a href="#Page_213">213</a>.</li> +<li>In Memory's Garden, <i>Thomas Walsh</i>, <a href="#Page_183">183</a>.</li> +<li>In my Mother's Garden, <i>Margaret Widdemer</i>, <a href="#Page_87">87</a>.</li> +<li>In the Garden, <i>Pai Ta-Shun</i>, <a href="#Page_204">204</a>.</li> +<li>In the Garden-Close at Mezra, <i>Clinton Scollard</i>, <a href="#Page_195">195</a>.</li> +<li>In the Womb, <i>A. E.</i>, <a href="#Page_4">4</a>.</li> +<li>Indian Summer, <i>Sara Teasdale</i>, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>.</li> +<li>Iris Flowers, <i>Mary McNeil Fenollosa</i>, <a href="#Page_247">247</a>.</li> +<li>"It was June in the garden," <i>Emile Verhaeren</i>, <a href="#Page_136">136</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<ul class="IX"> +<li>Jewel-Weed, <i>Florence Earle Coates</i>, <a href="#Page_111">111</a>.</li> +<li>Joe-Pyeweed, <i>Louis Untermeyer</i>, <a href="#Page_108">108</a>.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span></li> +<li>Joy of the Springtime, The, <i>Sarojini Naidu</i>, <a href="#Page_20">20</a>.</li> +<li>Joys of a Summer Morning, The, <i>Henry A. Wise Wood</i>, <a href="#Page_101">101</a>.</li> +<li>July Garden, The, <i>Robert Ernest Vernède</i>, <a href="#Page_43">43</a>.</li> +<li>July Midnight, <i>Amy Lowell</i>, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>.</li> +<li>June, <i>Douglas Malloch</i>, <a href="#Page_36">36</a>.</li> +<li>June Rapture, <i>Angela Morgan</i>, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<ul class="IX"> +<li>Kinfolk, <i>Kate Whiting Patch</i>, <a href="#Page_65">65</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<ul class="IX"> +<li>Lady of the Snows, A, <i>Harriet Monroe</i>, <a href="#Page_153">153</a>.</li> +<li>Larkspur, <i>James Oppenheim</i>, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>.</li> +<li>Late Walk, A, <i>Robert Frost</i>, <a href="#Page_50">50</a>.</li> +<li>Lavender, <i>W. W. Blair Fish</i>, <a href="#Page_219">219</a>.</li> +<li>Lilies, The, <i>George E. Woodberry</i>, <a href="#Page_255">255</a>.</li> +<li>Little Ghost, The, <i>Edna St. Vincent Millay</i>, <a href="#Page_190">190</a>.</li> +<li>Little Girl's Songs, A, <i>Hilda Conkling</i>, <a href="#Page_236">236</a>.</li> +<li>Little God, The, <i>Katharine Howard</i>, <a href="#Page_240">240</a>.</li> +<li>"Lord, I ask a Garden," <i>R. Arevalo Martinez</i>, <a href="#Page_279">279</a>.</li> +<li>Love planted a Rose, <i>Katharine Lee Bates</i>, <a href="#Page_123">123</a>.</li> +<li>"Loveliest of trees," <i>A. E. Housman</i>, <a href="#Page_155">155</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<ul class="IX"> +<li>Magnolia, The, <i>José Santos Chocano</i>, <a href="#Page_34">34</a>.</li> +<li>May is building her House, <i>Richard Le Gallienne</i>, <a href="#Page_33">33</a>.</li> +<li>Message, The, <i>Helen Hay Whitney</i>, <a href="#Page_141">141</a>.</li> +<li>Message, The, <i>George Edward Woodberry</i>, <a href="#Page_120">120</a>.</li> +<li>Messenger, The, <i>James Stephens</i>, <a href="#Page_71">71</a>.</li> +<li>"Mid-summer blooms within our quiet garden-ways," <i>Emile Verhaeren</i>, <a href="#Page_44">44</a>.</li> +<li>Midsummer Garden, A, <i>Clinton Scollard</i>, <a href="#Page_172">172</a>.</li> +<li>Miracle, <i>L. H. Bailey</i>, <a href="#Page_148">148</a>.</li> +<li>Mocking-Bird, A, <i>Witter Bynner</i>, <a href="#Page_65">65</a>.</li> +<li>Mocking-Bird, The, <i>Frank L. Stanton</i>, <a href="#Page_69">69</a>.</li> +<li>Morning-Glory, The, <i>Florence Earle Coates</i>, <a href="#Page_40">40</a>.</li> +<li>Moth-Flowers, <i>Jeanne Robert Foster</i>, <a href="#Page_262">262</a>.</li> +<li>My Flower-Room, <i>Ella Wheeler Wilcox</i>, <a href="#Page_280">280</a>.</li> +<li>"My soul is like a garden-close," <i>Thomas S. Jones, Jr.</i>, <a href="#Page_128">128</a>.</li> +<li>Mystery, <i>Ralph Hodgson</i>, <a href="#Page_275">275</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<ul class="IX"> +<li>New Sundial, To a, <i>Violet Fane</i>, <a href="#Page_13">13</a>.</li> +<li>Night-Moth, The, <i>Marion Couthouy Smith</i>, <a href="#Page_75">75</a>.</li> +<li>Nightingales, <i>Grace Hazard Conkling</i>, <a href="#Page_63">63</a>.</li> +<li>November Night, <i>Adeline Crapsey</i>, <a href="#Page_55">55</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<ul class="IX"> +<li>"Oh, tell me how my garden grows," <i>Mildred Howells</i>, <a href="#Page_188">188</a>.</li> +<li>Old Brocade, The, <i>M. G. Brereton</i>, <a href="#Page_93">93</a>.</li> +<li>Old Gardens, <i>Arthur Upson</i>, <a href="#Page_179">179</a>.</li> +<li>Old Homes, <i>Madison Cawein</i>, <a href="#Page_81">81</a>.</li> +<li>Old Mothers, <i>Charles Ross</i>, <a href="#Page_95">95</a>.</li> +<li>Old-fashioned Garden, The, <i>John Russell Hayes</i>, <a href="#Page_83">83</a>.</li> +<li>Order, <i>Paul Scott Mowrer</i>, <a href="#Page_75">75</a>.</li> +<li>Over the Garden Wall, <i>Emily Selinger</i>, <a href="#Page_243">243</a>.</li> +<li>Oxford Garden, In an, <i>Arthur Upson</i>, <a href="#Page_213">213</a>.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span></li> +</ul> + +<ul class="IX"> +<li>Pasture, The, <i>Robert Frost</i>, <a href="#Page_104">104</a>.</li> +<li>Path that leads to Nowhere, The, <i>Corinne Roosevelt Robinson</i>, <a href="#Page_117">117</a>.</li> +<li>Philosopher's Garden, The, <i>John Oxenham</i>, <a href="#Page_285">285</a>.</li> +<li>Planting, <i>Robert Livingston</i>, <a href="#Page_230">230</a>.</li> +<li>Poplars, The, <i>Theodosia Garrison</i>, <a href="#Page_164">164</a>.</li> +<li>Poppies, <i>John Russell Hayes</i>, <a href="#Page_45">45</a>.</li> +<li>Prayer, <i>John Hall Wheelock</i>, <a href="#Page_130">130</a>.</li> +<li>Prayer, A, <i>Edwin Markham</i>, <a href="#Page_284">284</a>.</li> +<li>Primavera, <i>George Cabot Lodge</i>, <a href="#Page_21">21</a>.</li> +<li>Progress, <i>Charlotte Becker</i>, <a href="#Page_125">125</a>.</li> +<li>Proud Vegetables, The, <i>Mary McNeil Fenollosa</i>, <a href="#Page_221">221</a>.</li> +<li>Puritan Lady's Garden, A, <i>Sarah N. Cleghorn</i>, <a href="#Page_82">82</a>.</li> +<li>Putting in the Seed, <i>Robert Frost</i>, <a href="#Page_5">5</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<ul class="IX"> +<li>Rain, The, <i>William H. Davies</i>, <a href="#Page_9">9</a>.</li> +<li>Rain in the Night, <i>Amelia Josephine Burr</i>, <a href="#Page_235">235</a>.</li> +<li>Reflections, <i>Amy Lowell</i>, <a href="#Page_203">203</a>.</li> +<li>Rest at Noon, <i>Hermann Hagedorn</i>, <a href="#Page_74">74</a>.</li> +<li>Results and Roses, <i>Edgar A. Guest</i>, <a href="#Page_145">145</a>.</li> +<li>Road to the Pool, The, <i>Grace Hazard Conkling</i>, <a href="#Page_99">99</a>.</li> +<li>Roman Garden, A, <i>Florence Wilkinson Evans</i>, <a href="#Page_205">205</a>.</li> +<li>Rosa Mystica, <i>Katharine Tynan</i>, <a href="#Page_273">273</a>.</li> +<li>Rose, The, <i>Grace Hazard Conkling</i>, <a href="#Page_130">130</a>.</li> +<li>Rose, The, <i>Angela Morgan</i>, <a href="#Page_275">275</a>.</li> +<li>Rose-Geranium, <i>Clement Wood</i>, <a href="#Page_90">90</a>.</li> +<li>Rose Lover, A, <i>Frederic A. Whiting</i>, <a href="#Page_134">134</a>.</li> +<li>Roses, <i>Wilfrid Wilson Gibson</i>, <a href="#Page_138">138</a>.</li> +<li>Roses in the Subway, <i>Dana Burnet</i>, <a href="#Page_191">191</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<ul class="IX"> +<li>Safe, <i>Robert Haven Schauffler</i>, <a href="#Page_259">259</a>.</li> +<li>Samuel Gardner, <i>Edgar Lee Masters</i>, <a href="#Page_277">277</a>.</li> +<li>Scissors-Man, The, <i>Grace Hazard Conkling</i>, <a href="#Page_250">250</a>.</li> +<li>Secret, The, <i>Arthur Wallace Peach</i>, <a href="#Page_77">77</a>.</li> +<li>Seeds, <i>John Oxenham</i>, <a href="#Page_278">278</a>.</li> +<li>Selection from "Under the Trees," <i>Anna Hempstead Branch</i>, <a href="#Page_151">151</a>.</li> +<li>Seller of Herbs, A, <i>Lizette Woodworth Reese</i>, <a href="#Page_218">218</a>.</li> +<li>Serenade, <i>Marjorie L. C. Pickthall</i>, <a href="#Page_184">184</a>.</li> +<li>Shade, <i>Theodosia Garrison</i>, <a href="#Page_150">150</a>.</li> +<li>Shower, A, <i>Rowland Thirlmere</i>, <a href="#Page_8">8</a>.</li> +<li>Snow-Gardens, The, <i>Zoë Akins</i>, <a href="#Page_55">55</a>.</li> +<li>Soft Day, A, <i>W. M. Letts</i>, <a href="#Page_110">110</a>.</li> +<li>Song for Winter, A, <i>Mrs. Schuyler Van Rensselaer</i>, <a href="#Page_57">57</a>.</li> +<li>Song from "April," <i>Irene Rutherford McLeod</i>, <a href="#Page_98">98</a>.</li> +<li>Song in a Garden, A, <i>Theodosia Garrison</i>, <a href="#Page_135">135</a>.</li> +<li>Song of Fairies, A, <i>Elizabeth Kirby</i>, <a href="#Page_131">131</a>.</li> +<li>Song of the Weary Traveller, <i>Blanche Shoemaker Wagstaff</i>, <a href="#Page_267">267</a>.</li> +<li>Song of Wandering Aengus, The, <i>W. B. Yeats</i>, <a href="#Page_177">177</a>.</li> +<li>Song to Belinda, A, <i>Theodosia Garrison</i>, <a href="#Page_132">132</a>.</li> +<li>Sonnet: "Drop me the seed, that I, even in my brain," <i>John Masefield</i>, <a href="#Page_257">257</a>.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span></li> +<li>Sonnet: "It may be so; but let the unknown be," <i>John Masefield</i>, <a href="#Page_10">10</a>.</li> +<li>Sonnet: "The sweet caresses that I gave to you," <i>Elsa Barker</i>, <a href="#Page_135">135</a>.</li> +<li>Sorrow in a Garden, <i>May Riley Smith</i>, <a href="#Page_260">260</a>.</li> +<li>South Wind, <i>Siegfried Sassoon</i>, <a href="#Page_102">102</a>.</li> +<li>Spirit of the Birch, The, <i>Arthur Ketchum</i>, <a href="#Page_156">156</a>.</li> +<li>Spring, <i>John Gould Fletcher</i>, <a href="#Page_20">20</a>.</li> +<li>Spring, <i>Francis Ledwidge</i>, <a href="#Page_26">26</a>.</li> +<li>Spring Beauties, The, <i>Helen Gray Cone</i>, <a href="#Page_68">68</a>.</li> +<li>Spring Patchwork, <i>Abbie Farwell Brown</i>, <a href="#Page_231">231</a>.</li> +<li>Spring Planting, <i>Helen Hay Whitney</i>, <a href="#Page_239">239</a>.</li> +<li>Spring Song, <i>Hilda Conkling</i>, <a href="#Page_236">236</a>.</li> +<li>Spring Song, <i>William Griffith</i>, <a href="#Page_62">62</a>.</li> +<li>Stairways and Gardens, <i>Ella Wheeler Wilcox</i>, <a href="#Page_94">94</a>.</li> +<li>Sun, Cardinal, and Corn Flowers, <i>Hannah Parker Kimball</i>, <a href="#Page_48">48</a>.</li> +<li>Sunflowers, <i>Clinton Scollard</i>, <a href="#Page_48">48</a>.</li> +<li>Sweetheart-Lady, <i>Frank L. Stanton</i>, <a href="#Page_133">133</a>.</li> +<li>Sweetwilliam, To the, <i>Norman Gale</i>, <a href="#Page_88">88</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<ul class="IX"> +<li>Tell-Tale, <i>Oliver Herford</i>, <a href="#Page_142">142</a>.</li> +<li>"The Lord God planted a garden," <i>Dorothy Frances Gurney</i>, <a href="#Page_255">255</a>.</li> +<li>"There is strength in the soil," <i>Arthur Stringer</i>, <a href="#Page_4">4</a>.</li> +<li>Thief, Da, <i>T. A. Daly</i>, <a href="#Page_143">143</a>.</li> +<li>Thistle, The, <i>Miles M. Dawson</i>, <a href="#Page_104">104</a>.</li> +<li>Thoughts fer the Discuraged Farmer, <i>James Whitcomb Riley</i>, <a href="#Page_225">225</a>.</li> +<li>Three Cherry Trees, The, <i>Walter de la Mare</i>, <a href="#Page_178">178</a>.</li> +<li>Tilling, The, <i>Cale Young Rice</i>, <a href="#Page_258">258</a>.</li> +<li>Time of Roses, The, <i>Sarojini Naidu</i>, <a href="#Page_122">122</a>.</li> +<li>To a Daisy, <i>Alice Meynell</i>, <a href="#Page_109">109</a>.</li> +<li>To a New Sundial, <i>Violet Fane</i>, <a href="#Page_13">13</a>.</li> +<li>To a Weed, <i>Gertrude Hall</i>, <a href="#Page_102">102</a>.</li> +<li>To the Sweetwilliam, <i>Norman Gale</i>, <a href="#Page_88">88</a>.</li> +<li>Tree, The, <i>Evelyn Underhill</i>, <a href="#Page_153">153</a>.</li> +<li>Trees, <i>Bliss Carman</i>, <a href="#Page_160">160</a>.</li> +<li>Trees, <i>Joyce Kilmer</i>, <a href="#Page_165">165</a>.</li> +<li>Trees, The, <i>Samuel Valentine Cole</i>, <a href="#Page_162">162</a>.</li> +<li>Tulip Garden, A, <i>Amy Lowell</i>, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>.</li> +<li>Tulips, <i>Arthur Guiterman</i>, <a href="#Page_31">31</a>.</li> +<li>Two Roses, <i>William Lindsey</i>, <a href="#Page_138">138</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<ul class="IX"> +<li>"Under the Trees," Selection from, <i>Anna Hempstead Branch</i>, <a href="#Page_151">151</a>.</li> +<li>Up a Hill and a Hill, <i>Fannie Stearns Davis</i>, <a href="#Page_100">100</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<ul class="IX"> +<li>Velvets, <i>Hilda Conkling</i>, <a href="#Page_237">237</a>.</li> +<li>"Vestured and veiled with twilight," <i>Rosamund Marriott Watson</i>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<ul class="IX"> +<li>Wall, The, <i>Abbie Farwell Brown</i>, <a href="#Page_112">112</a>.</li> +<li>Ways of Time, The, <i>William H. Davies</i>, <a href="#Page_172">172</a>.</li> +<li>Weed, To a, <i>Gertrude Hall</i>, <a href="#Page_102">102</a>.</li> +<li>Welcome, <i>John Curtis Underwood</i>, <a href="#Page_264">264</a>.</li> +<li>Welcome, The, <i>Arthur Powell</i>, <a href="#Page_19">19</a>.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span></li> +<li>"What heart but fears a fragrance?" <i>Martha Gilbert Dickinson Bianchi</i>, <a href="#Page_185">185</a>.</li> +<li>When Swallows Build, <i>Catherine Parmenter</i>, <a href="#Page_238">238</a>.</li> +<li>"Where love is life," <i>Duncan Campbell Scott</i>, <a href="#Page_121">121</a>.</li> +<li>While April Rain went by, <i>Shaemas O Sheel</i>, <a href="#Page_25">25</a>.</li> +<li>Whisper of Earth, The, <i>Edward J. O'Brien</i>, <a href="#Page_6">6</a>.</li> +<li>White Iris, A, <i>Pauline B. Barrington</i>, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>.</li> +<li>White Peacock, The, <i>William Sharp</i>, <a href="#Page_196">196</a>.</li> +<li>White Rose, The, <i>Charles Hanson Towne</i>, <a href="#Page_173">173</a>.</li> +<li>Wild Gardens, <i>Ada Foster Murray</i>, <a href="#Page_106">106</a>.</li> +<li>Wild Rose, The, <i>Charles Buxton Going</i>, <a href="#Page_99">99</a>.</li> +<li>Witchery, <i>Frank Dempster Sherman</i>, <a href="#Page_68">68</a>.</li> +<li>With a Rose, to Brunhilde, <i>Vachel Lindsay</i>, <a href="#Page_127">127</a>.</li> +<li>"With memories and odors," <i>John Hall Wheelock</i>, <a href="#Page_24">24</a>.</li> +<li>"Within the garden there is healthfulness," <i>Emile Verhaeren</i>, <a href="#Page_6">6</a>.</li> +<li>Wonder Garden, A, <i>Frederic A. Whiting</i>, <a href="#Page_266">266</a>.</li> +<li>Wood Song, <i>Sara Teasdale</i>, <a href="#Page_284">284</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<ul class="IX"> +<li>Years Afterward, <i>Nancy Byrd Turner</i>, <a href="#Page_186">186</a>.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span></li> +<li>Yellow Warblers, <i>Katharine Lee Bates</i>, <a href="#Page_67">67</a>.</li> +</ul> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span></p> + + +<h2>INDEX OF AUTHORS</h2> + + +<ul class="IX"> +<li><span class="smcap">A. E.,</span> <a href="#Page_4">4</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Aiken, Conrad,</span> <a href="#Page_25">25</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Akins, Zoë,</span> <a href="#Page_55">55</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Anderson, Margaret Steele,</span> <a href="#Page_273">273</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<ul class="IX"> +<li><span class="smcap">Bailey, L. H.,</span> <a href="#Page_148">148</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Barker, Elsa,</span> <a href="#Page_135">135</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Barrington, Pauline B.,</span> <a href="#Page_32">32</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Bates, Katharine Lee,</span> <a href="#Page_67">67</a>, <a href="#Page_123">123</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Becker, Charlotte,</span> <a href="#Page_125">125</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Bianchi, Martha Gilbert Dickinson,</span> <a href="#Page_185">185</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Biddle, Livingston L.,</span> <a href="#Page_131">131</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Branch, Anna Hempstead,</span> <a href="#Page_151">151</a>, <a href="#Page_179">179</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Brereton, M. G.,</span> <a href="#Page_93">93</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Brown, Abbie Farwell,</span> <a href="#Page_112">112</a>, <a href="#Page_231">231</a>, <a href="#Page_244">244</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Burnet, Dana,</span> <a href="#Page_191">191</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Burr, Amelia Josephine,</span> <a href="#Page_73">73</a>, <a href="#Page_235">235</a>, <a href="#Page_270">270</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Burton, Richard,</span> <a href="#Page_208">208</a>, <a href="#Page_254">254</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Bynner, Witter,</span> <a href="#Page_30">30</a>, <a href="#Page_65">65</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<ul class="IX"> +<li><span class="smcap">Carman, Bliss,</span> <a href="#Page_23">23</a>, <a href="#Page_160">160</a>, <a href="#Page_169">169</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Cawein, Madison,</span> <a href="#Page_81">81</a>, <a href="#Page_169">169</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Chocano, José Santos,</span> <a href="#Page_34">34</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Cleghorn, Sarah N.,</span> <a href="#Page_82">82</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Coates, Florence Earle,</span> <a href="#Page_40">40</a>, <a href="#Page_111">111</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Cole, Samuel Valentine,</span> <a href="#Page_162">162</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Colum, Padraic,</span> <a href="#Page_3">3</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Cone, Helen Gray,</span> <a href="#Page_68">68</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Conkling, Grace Hazard,</span> <a href="#Page_63">63</a>, <a href="#Page_99">99</a>, <a href="#Page_130">130</a>, <a href="#Page_217">217</a>, <a href="#Page_250">250</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Conkling, Hilda,</span> <a href="#Page_236">236</a>, <a href="#Page_237">237</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Crapsey, Adelaide,</span> <a href="#Page_55">55</a>, <a href="#Page_110">110</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<ul class="IX"> +<li><span class="smcap">Daly, T. A.,</span> <a href="#Page_40">40</a>, <a href="#Page_143">143</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Davies, William H.,</span> <a href="#Page_9">9</a>, <a href="#Page_172">172</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Davis, Fannie Stearns,</span> <a href="#Page_100">100</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Dawson, Miles M.,</span> <a href="#Page_104">104</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">De la Mare, Walter,</span> <a href="#Page_178">178</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Deland, Margaret,</span> <a href="#Page_116">116</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Denison, Eldredge,</span> <a href="#Page_189">189</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Dodge, Louis,</span> <a href="#Page_139">139</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Dorr, Julia C. R.,</span> <a href="#Page_91">91</a>, <a href="#Page_170">170</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Driscoll, Louise,</span> <a href="#Page_226">226</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<ul class="IX"> +<li><span class="smcap">E., A.,</span> <a href="#Page_4">4</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Eastaway, Edward,</span> <a href="#Page_276">276</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Evans, Florence Wilkinson,</span> <a href="#Page_205">205</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<ul class="IX"> +<li><span class="smcap">Fane, Violet,</span> <a href="#Page_13">13</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Fenollosa, Mary McNeil,</span> <a href="#Page_18">18</a>, <a href="#Page_221">221</a>, <a href="#Page_247">247</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Fish, W. W. Blair,</span> <a href="#Page_219">219</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Fletcher, John Gould,</span> <a href="#Page_20">20</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Foster, Jeanne Robert,</span> <a href="#Page_262">262</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Frost, Robert,</span> <a href="#Page_5">5</a>, <a href="#Page_50">50</a>, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>, <a href="#Page_104">104</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<ul class="IX"> +<li><span class="smcap">Gale, Norman,</span> <a href="#Page_88">88</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Garrison, Theodosia,</span> <a href="#Page_132">132</a>, <a href="#Page_135">135</a>, <a href="#Page_150">150</a>, <a href="#Page_164">164</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Gibson, Wilfrid Wilson,</span> <a href="#Page_138">138</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Going, Charles Buxton,</span> <a href="#Page_99">99</a>, <a href="#Page_249">249</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Gosse, Edmund,</span> <a href="#Page_126">126</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Griffith, William,</span> <a href="#Page_62">62</a>.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span></li> +<li><span class="smcap">Guest, Edgar A.,</span> <a href="#Page_145">145</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Guiney, Louise Imogen,</span> <a href="#Page_268">268</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Guiterman, Arthur,</span> <a href="#Page_31">31</a>, <a href="#Page_39">39</a>, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Gurney, Dorothy Frances,</span> <a href="#Page_209">209</a>, <a href="#Page_255">255</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<ul class="IX"> +<li><span class="smcap">Hagedorn, Hermann,</span> <a href="#Page_61">61</a>, <a href="#Page_74">74</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Hall, Gertrude,</span> <a href="#Page_102">102</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Harding, Ruth Guthrie,</span> <a href="#Page_28">28</a>, <a href="#Page_267">267</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Hayes, John Russell,</span> <a href="#Page_45">45</a>, <a href="#Page_83">83</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Herford, Oliver,</span> <a href="#Page_142">142</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Hodgson, Ralph,</span> <a href="#Page_275">275</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Holley, Horace,</span> <a href="#Page_7">7</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Hooker, Brian,</span> <a href="#Page_181">181</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Hope, Laurence,</span> <a href="#Page_195">195</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Housman, A. E.,</span> <a href="#Page_155">155</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Howard, Katharine,</span> <a href="#Page_240">240</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Howells, Mildred,</span> <a href="#Page_188">188</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Hubbell, Rose Strong,</span> <a href="#Page_239">239</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<ul class="IX"> +<li><span class="smcap">Jewett, Sarah Orne,</span> <a href="#Page_263">263</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Jewett, Sophie,</span> <a href="#Page_207">207</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Johnson, Burges,</span> <a href="#Page_242">242</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Johnson, Robert Underwood,</span> <a href="#Page_207">207</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Jones, Thomas S., Jr.,</span> <a href="#Page_36">36</a>, <a href="#Page_128">128</a>, <a href="#Page_168">168</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<ul class="IX"> +<li><span class="smcap">Kemp, Harry,</span> <a href="#Page_14">14</a>, <a href="#Page_269">269</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Kenyon, James B.,</span> <a href="#Page_86">86</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Ketchum, Arthur,</span> <a href="#Page_156">156</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Kilmer, Joyce,</span> <a href="#Page_165">165</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Kimball, Hannah Parker,</span> <a href="#Page_48">48</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Kirby, Elizabeth,</span> <a href="#Page_131">131</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Kreymborg, Alfred,</span> <a href="#Page_158">158</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<ul class="IX"> +<li><span class="smcap">Ledwidge, Francis,</span> <a href="#Page_26">26</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Lee, Agnes,</span> <a href="#Page_124">124</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Le Gallienne, Richard,</span> <a href="#Page_33">33</a>, <a href="#Page_60">60</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Letts, W. M.,</span> <a href="#Page_110">110</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Lindsay, Vachel,</span> <a href="#Page_107">107</a>, <a href="#Page_127">127</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Lindsey, William,</span> <a href="#Page_138">138</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Livingston, Robert,</span> <a href="#Page_230">230</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Lodge, George Cabot,</span> <a href="#Page_21">21</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Lowell, Amy,</span> <a href="#Page_30">30</a>, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>, <a href="#Page_176">176</a>, <a href="#Page_203">203</a>, <a href="#Page_250">250</a>, <a href="#Page_283">283</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<ul class="IX"> +<li><span class="smcap">McCarthy, Denis A.,</span> <a href="#Page_22">22</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">McGiffert, Gertrude Huntington,</span> <a href="#Page_46">46</a>, <a href="#Page_80">80</a>, <a href="#Page_211">211</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">McLeod, Irene Rutherford,</span> <a href="#Page_98">98</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">McMillan, Mary,</span> <a href="#Page_51">51</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Malloch, Douglas,</span> <a href="#Page_36">36</a>, <a href="#Page_156">156</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Markham, Catherine,</span> <a href="#Page_152">152</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Markham, Edwin,</span> <a href="#Page_76">76</a>, <a href="#Page_270">270</a>, <a href="#Page_284">284</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Martinez, R. Arevalo,</span> <a href="#Page_279">279</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Masefield, John,</span> <a href="#Page_10">10</a>, <a href="#Page_257">257</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Masters, Edgar Lee,</span> <a href="#Page_277">277</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Meynell, Alice,</span> <a href="#Page_109">109</a>, <a href="#Page_123">123</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Middleton, Richard,</span> <a href="#Page_186">186</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Mifflin, Lloyd,</span> <a href="#Page_159">159</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Millay, Edna St. Vincent,</span> <a href="#Page_49">49</a>, <a href="#Page_115">115</a>, <a href="#Page_190">190</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Monroe, Harriet,</span> <a href="#Page_153">153</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Morgan, Angela,</span> <a href="#Page_37">37</a>, <a href="#Page_149">149</a>, <a href="#Page_275">275</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Mowrer, Paul Scott,</span> <a href="#Page_75">75</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Murray, Ada Foster,</span> <a href="#Page_106">106</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<ul class="IX"> +<li><span class="smcap">Naidu, Sarojini,</span> <a href="#Page_20">20</a>, <a href="#Page_122">122</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Nesbit, E.,</span> <a href="#Page_234">234</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Noyes, Alfred,</span> <a href="#Page_35">35</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<ul class="IX"> +<li><span class="smcap">O'Brien, Edward J.,</span> <a href="#Page_6">6</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">O'Conor, Norreys Jephson,</span> <a href="#Page_133">133</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Oppenheim, James,</span> <a href="#Page_42">42</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">O Sheel, Shaemas,</span> <a href="#Page_25">25</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Oxenham, John,</span> <a href="#Page_278">278</a>, <a href="#Page_285">285</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<ul class="IX"> +<li><span class="smcap">Pai Ta-Shun,</span> <a href="#Page_204">204</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Parmenter, Catherine,</span> <a href="#Page_238">238</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Patch, Kate Whiting,</span> <a href="#Page_65">65</a>.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span></li> +<li><span class="smcap">Patterson, Antoinette De Coursey,</span> <a href="#Page_52">52</a>, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>, <a href="#Page_129">129</a>, <a href="#Page_202">202</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Peabody, Josephine Preston,</span> <a href="#Page_11">11</a>, <a href="#Page_125">125</a>, <a href="#Page_140">140</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Peach, Arthur Wallace,</span> <a href="#Page_12">12</a>, <a href="#Page_77">77</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Pickthall, Marjorie L. C.,</span> <a href="#Page_184">184</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Powell, Arthur,</span> <a href="#Page_19">19</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<ul class="IX"> +<li><span class="smcap">Reese, Lizette Woodworth,</span> <a href="#Page_27">27</a>, <a href="#Page_212">212</a>, <a href="#Page_218">218</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Rice, Cale Young,</span> <a href="#Page_258">258</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Rice, John Pierrepont,</span> <a href="#Page_34">34</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Richards, Laura E.,</span> <a href="#Page_232">232</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Riley, James Whitcomb,</span> <a href="#Page_225">225</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Rittenhouse, Jessie B.,</span> <a href="#Page_198">198</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Robinson, Corinne Roosevelt,</span> <a href="#Page_117">117</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Ross, Charles,</span> <a href="#Page_95">95</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Russell, George William,</span> <a href="#Page_4">4</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<ul class="IX"> +<li><span class="smcap">Sassoon, Siegfried,</span> <a href="#Page_102">102</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Schauffler, Robert Haven,</span> <a href="#Page_259">259</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Scollard, Clinton,</span> <a href="#Page_28">28</a>, <a href="#Page_48">48</a>, <a href="#Page_172">172</a>, <a href="#Page_195">195</a>, <a href="#Page_201">201</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Scott, Duncan Campbell,</span> <a href="#Page_121">121</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Selinger, Emily,</span> <a href="#Page_243">243</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Sharp, William,</span> <a href="#Page_196">196</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Shepard, Odell,</span> <a href="#Page_63">63</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Sherman, Frank Dempster,</span> <a href="#Page_68">68</a>, <a href="#Page_241">241</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Smith, Marion Couthouy,</span> <a href="#Page_75">75</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Smith, May Riley,</span> <a href="#Page_260">260</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Stanton, Frank L.,</span> <a href="#Page_69">69</a>, <a href="#Page_133">133</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Stephens, James,</span> <a href="#Page_71">71</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Sterling, George,</span> <a href="#Page_127">127</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Stork, Charles Wharton,</span> <a href="#Page_50">50</a>, <a href="#Page_114">114</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Stringer, Arthur,</span> <a href="#Page_4">4</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<ul class="IX"> +<li><span class="smcap">Tabb, John B.,</span> <a href="#Page_9">9</a>, <a href="#Page_105">105</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Tagore, Rabindranath,</span> <a href="#Page_200">200</a>, <a href="#Page_246">246</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Teasdale, Sara,</span> <a href="#Page_53">53</a>, <a href="#Page_199">199</a>, <a href="#Page_256">256</a>, <a href="#Page_262">262</a>, <a href="#Page_284">284</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Thirlmere, Rowland,</span> <a href="#Page_8">8</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Thomas, Edith M.,</span> <a href="#Page_54">54</a>, <a href="#Page_216">216</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Thomas, Edward,</span> <a href="#Page_276">276</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Towne, Charles Hanson,</span> <a href="#Page_139">139</a>, <a href="#Page_173">173</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Turner, Nancy Byrd,</span> <a href="#Page_186">186</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Tynan, Katharine,</span> <a href="#Page_223">223</a>, <a href="#Page_273">273</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<ul class="IX"> +<li><span class="smcap">Underhill, Evelyn,</span> <a href="#Page_153">153</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Underwood, John Curtis,</span> <a href="#Page_264">264</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Untermeyer, Louis,</span> <a href="#Page_108">108</a>, <a href="#Page_174">174</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Upson, Arthur,</span> <a href="#Page_179">179</a>, <a href="#Page_213">213</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<ul class="IX"> +<li><span class="smcap">Van Dyke, Henry,</span> <a href="#Page_265">265</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Van Rensselaer, Mrs. Schuyler,</span> <a href="#Page_57">57</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Verhaeren, Emile,</span> <a href="#Page_6">6</a>, <a href="#Page_44">44</a>, <a href="#Page_136">136</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Vernède, Robert Ernest,</span> <a href="#Page_43">43</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<ul class="IX"> +<li><span class="smcap">Wagstaff, Blanche Shoemaker,</span> <a href="#Page_267">267</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Walsh, Thomas,</span> <a href="#Page_183">183</a>, <a href="#Page_194">194</a>, <a href="#Page_210">210</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Watson, Rosamund Marriott,</span> <a href="#Page_181">181</a>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Watson, William,</span> <a href="#Page_212">212</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Wheelock, John Hall,</span> <a href="#Page_2">2</a>, <a href="#Page_24">24</a>, <a href="#Page_130">130</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">White, James Terry,</span> <a href="#Page_183">183</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Whiting, Frederic A.,</span> <a href="#Page_134">134</a>, <a href="#Page_266">266</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Whitney, Helen Hay,</span> <a href="#Page_141">141</a>, <a href="#Page_239">239</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Widdemer, Margaret,</span> <a href="#Page_87">87</a>, <a href="#Page_245">245</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Wilcox, Ella Wheeler,</span> <a href="#Page_94">94</a>, <a href="#Page_280">280</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Wilkinson, Marguerite,</span> <a href="#Page_221">221</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Wood, Clement,</span> <a href="#Page_90">90</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Wood, Henry A. Wise,</span> <a href="#Page_101">101</a>.</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Woodberry, George Edward,</span> <a href="#Page_120">120</a>, <a href="#Page_255">255</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<ul class="IX"> +<li><span class="smcap">Yeats, W. B.,</span> <a href="#Page_177">177</a>.</li> +</ul> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span></p> +<div class="center"> +The Riverside Press<br /> +<br /> +CAMBRIDGE, MASSACHUSETTS<br /> +<br /> +U. S. A.<br /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="transnote"> +<div class="center"><big>Transcriber's Notes:</big></div> + +<p>Punctuation and obvious spelling errors repaired, but variant spellings retained.</p> + +<p>Inconsistent indentations within a poem were retained.</p> + +<p>In original, book title "Melody of Earth" appears twice at beginning, and +"Index of Titles" and "Index of Authors" headings appear +twice before their respective indexes. These redundancies were removed.</p> + +<p>Shaemas O Sheel: name occurs consistently with no punctuation after the O.</p> + +<p>Spaces were removed from spaced contractions: for example, "'t was" to "'twas," "that 's" to "that's," "did n't" to "didn't."</p> +</div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Melody of Earth, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MELODY OF EARTH *** + +***** This file should be named 38438-h.htm or 38438-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/8/4/3/38438/ + +Produced by Charlene Taylor, JoAnn Greenwood, and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net +(This file was produced from images generously made +available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +https://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +https://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at https://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit https://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including including checks, online payments and credit card +donations. To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + + +</pre> + +</body> +</html> diff --git a/38438-h/images/titledec.png b/38438-h/images/titledec.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..34e3c11 --- /dev/null +++ b/38438-h/images/titledec.png diff --git a/38438.txt b/38438.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f532e46 --- /dev/null +++ b/38438.txt @@ -0,0 +1,10342 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Melody of Earth, by Various + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Melody of Earth + An Anthology of Garden and Nature Poems From Present-Day Poets + +Author: Various + +Release Date: December 30, 2011 [EBook #38438] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MELODY OF EARTH *** + + + + +Produced by Charlene Taylor, JoAnn Greenwood, and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net +(This file was produced from images generously made +available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + + + + + + + + + THE MELODY OF + EARTH + + AN ANTHOLOGY + OF GARDEN AND NATURE POEMS + FROM PRESENT-DAY POETS + + SELECTED + AND ARRANGED BY + MRS. WALDO RICHARDS + + [Illustration] + + BOSTON AND NEW YORK + HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY + 1918 + + + + + COPYRIGHT, 1918, BY GERTRUDE MOORE RICHARDS + ALL RIGHTS RESERVED + + _Published March 1918_ + + + + + TO + MY DEAR SISTER + A LOVER OF GARDENS + + + + +FOREWORD + + +How many of us are conscious of the subtle melodies, "through which the +myriad lispings of the earth find perfect speech"? + +Our poets are listeners; their ears are tuned to the magic call of +secret voices that we who are not singers may never hear. They capture +the "Melody" in chalices of song, and their message is: that whosoever +will bend his ear to earth, may hear from field and furrow, from the +many-bladed grass and the soft-petalled flowers--in the soughing of the +pine tree or the rustle of leaves--an immortal music that revivifies the +soul. + +In the quiet tilled spots of earth, from time immemorial, men have sown +rare seeds of poetic thought that have flowered into song. Amiel wrote +in his _Journal_: "All seed-sowing is a mysterious thing whether the +seed fall into earth or into souls; man is a husbandman, and his work +rightly understood is to develop life, to sow it everywhere." The poets +are our seed-sowers, and _their_ work is to develop life and to enrich +it. They are never happier than when writing about gardens and the +growing things of earth--at once their symbol and their solace. In turn +gardens have in the poets their happiest interpreters. + +Here I have culled and gathered together songs and poems that reflect +the melody and harmony of Nature's forces. In these days of the world's +travail, let us seek inspiration and content within the delightful +confines of these Gardens of Poetry. + + GERTRUDE MOORE RICHARDS + + _March_, 1918 + + + + +ACKNOWLEDGMENTS + + +Mrs. Richards tenders her sincere thanks to the publishers and poets who +have so generously accorded their permission to use copyrighted poems: + +To the American Tract Society for "Seeds" and "The Philosopher's +Garden," John Oxenham, from _Bees in Amber_. + +To Messrs. D. Appleton & Co. for "The Mocking-Bird," Frank L. Stanton, +from _Songs of the Soil_. + +To the Baker & Taylor Co. for "June Rapture" and "The Rose," Angela +Morgan, from _The Hour has Struck, and Other Poems_ and _Utterance, and +Other Poems_. + +To The Biddle Press for "The Old-fashioned Garden" and "Poppies," John +Russell Hayes, from _Collected Poems_. + +To the Bobbs-Merrill Company for "Thoughts fer the Discuraged Farmer," +James Whitcomb Riley, from _Complete Works_. + +To Edmund A. Brooks, Minneapolis, for "Daffodils" and "From a +Car-Window," Ruth Guthrie Harding, from _The Lark went Singing, and +Other Poems_. + +To Messrs. Burns & Oates and to Alice Meynell (Mrs. Wilfrid Meynell) for +"To a Daisy" and "The Garden" from _Collected Poems_; for "Rosa +Mystica," Katharine Tynan (Mrs. Henry Albert Hinkson), from _The Flower +of Peace_. + +To The Century Co. for "Larkspur," James Oppenheim, from _War and +Laughter_; for "The Tilling," Cale Young Rice, from _Trails Sunward_; +for "The Haunted Garden," Louis Untermeyer, from _Challenge_. + +To Messrs. Constable & Co. for "For These," Edward Thomas (Edward +Eastaway), from _An Annual of New Poetry_. + +To _Country Life_ (London) and to Mrs. Gurney personally for "The Lord +God planted a Garden" and "A Garden in Venice," by Dorothy Frances +Gurney, from _Poems_. + +To Messrs. Thomas Y. Crowell Company for "Love planted a Rose," +Katharine Lee Bates, from _America, and Other Poems_; for "An Exile's +Garden," Sophie Jewett, from _Collected Poems_. + +To Messrs. J. M. Dent & Sons for "The Spring Beauties," Helen Gray Cone, +from _The Chant of Love, and Other Poems_. + +To Messrs. Dodd, Mead & Co. for "In a Garden," Livingston L. Biddle, +from _The Understanding Hills_. + +To Messrs. George H. Doran Company for "The Cricket in the Path," "Herb +of Grace," and "Rain in the Night," Amelia Josephine Burr, from _In Deep +Places_ and _Life and Living_; for "A Song in a Garden," "Shade," and +"The Poplars," Theodosia Garrison, from _The Dreamers, and Other Poems_; +for "Trees," Joyce Kilmer, from _Trees, and Other Poems_; for "June," +Douglas Malloch, from _The Woods_; for "Where Love is Life," Duncan +Campbell Scott, from "The Three Songs" in _Lundy's Lane, and Other +Poems_. + +To Messrs. Doubleday, Page & Co. for "A Prayer," "The Butterfly," and +"Before Mary of Magdala came," Edwin Markham, from _The Man with the +Hoe, and Other Poems_ and _The Shoes of Happiness, and Other Poems_. + +To Messrs. Duffield & Co. for "The sweet caresses that I gave to you," +Elsa Barker, from _The Book of Love_; for "What heart but fears a +fragrance?" ("Zauber Duft"), Martha Gilbert Dickinson Bianchi, from +_Gabrielle, and Other Poems_; for "Spring," Francis Ledwidge, from +_Songs of the Fields_; for "The White Peacock," William Sharp, from +_Songs and Poems_. + +To Messrs. E. P. Dutton & Co. for "The South Wind," Siegfried Sassoon, +from _The Old Huntsman, and Other Poems_; for "The Tree," Evelyn +Underhill, from _Theophanies_. + +To Messrs. H. W. Fisher & Co. for "A Dream," "The Autumn Rose," +"Fireflies," and "An Evening in Old Japan," Antoinette De Coursey +Patterson, from _Sonnets and Quatrains_ and _The Son of Merope, and +Other Poems_. + +To Messrs. Harper & Brothers for "Roses in the Subway," Dana Burnet, +from _Poems_; for "The Wild Rose," and "If I were a Fairy," Charles +Buxton Going, from _Star-Glow and Song_; for "The Cardinal-Bird," Arthur +Guiterman, from _The Laughing Muse_; for "Wild Gardens," Ada Foster +Murray, from _Flowers of the Grass_; for "The Message," Helen Hay +Whitney, from _Sonnets and Songs_. + +To Hearst's International Library Company for "Stairways and Gardens" +and "My Flower-Room," Ella Wheeler Wilcox, from _World Voices_. + +To Mr. William Heinemann for "The Cactus," Laurence Hope, from _Stars of +the Desert_; for "The July Garden," R. E. Vernede, from _War Poems, and +Other Verses_; for "A Garden-Piece," Edmund Gosse, from _Collected +Poems_. + +To Messrs. Henry Holt & Co. for "The Cloister Garden at Certosa," +Richard Burton, from _Poems of Earth's Meaning_; for "The Furrow," +Padraic Colum, from _Wild Earth, and Other Poems_; for "The Three Cherry +Trees," Walter de la Mare, from _The Listeners, and Other Poems_; for "A +Late Walk," "Asking for Roses," "The Pasture," and "Putting in the +Seed," Robert Frost, from _A Boy's Will_, _North of Boston_, and _A +Mountain Interval_; for "Joe-Pyeweed," Louis Untermeyer, from _These +Times_. + +To Messrs. Houghton Mifflin Company for "The Blooming of the Rose" and +the selection from "Under the Trees," Anna Hempstead Branch, from _The +Heart of the Road_ and _The Shoes that Danced, and Other Poems_; for +"Spring Patchwork" and "The Flowerphone," Abbie Farwell Brown, from _A +Pocketful of Posies_ and _Songs of Sixpence_; for "The Morning-Glory" +and "Jewel-Weed," Florence Earle Coates, from _Collected Poems_; for +"Nightingales" and "A Breath of Mint," Grace Hazard Conkling, from +_Afternoons of April_; for "The Golden-Rod," Margaret Deland, from _The +Old Garden, and Other Verses_; for "A Roman Garden," Florence Wilkinson +Evans, from _The Ride Home_; for "Cobwebs," Louise Imogen Guiney, from +_Happy Ending_; for "Planting," Robert Livingston, from _Murrer and Me_; +for "Primavera," George Cabot Lodge, from _Poems and Dramas_; for "Ever +the Same," "Charm: To be said in the Sun," and "But we did walk in +Eden," Josephine Preston Peabody, from _The Singing Leaves_ and _The +Singing Man_; for "At Isola Bella" ("A White Peacock"), Jessie B. +Rittenhouse, from _The Door of Dreams_; for "The Goldfinch," Odell +Shepard, from _A Lonely Flute_; for "Daisies" and "Witchery," Frank +Dempster Sherman, from _Poems_; for "Grandmother's Gathering Boneset," +Edith M. Thomas, from _In Sunshine Land_. + +To Mr. B. W. Huebsch for "Song from 'April,'" Irene Rutherford McLeod, +from _Songs to Save a Soul_. + +To Messrs. George W. Jacobs & Co. for "Vestured and veiled with +twilight," Rosamund Marriott Watson, from _The Heart of a Garden_. + +To Mr. R. U. Johnson (publisher) for "Como in April," Robert Underwood +Johnson, from _Collected Poems_. + +To Mr. Mitchell Kennerley for "A Song to Belinda," Theodosia Garrison, +from _Earth Cry_; for "In a Garden," Horace Holley, from _Divinations +and Creations_; for "Afternoon on a Hill," "The End of Summer," and "A +Little Ghost," Edna St. Vincent Millay, from _Renascence, and Other +Poems_; for "Welcome," John Curtis Underwood, from _Processionals_; for +"AEre Perennius," Charles Hanson Towne, from _A Quiet Singer_. + +To Mr. Alfred A. Knopf for "The Rain" and "The Ways of Time," William H. +Davies, from _Collected Poems_. + +To The John Lane Company (New York) for "Loveliest of Trees," A. E. +Housman, from _A Shropshire Lad_; for "May is building her House," and +"I meant to do my work to-day," Richard Le Gallienne, from _The Lonely +Dancer_; for "The Joy of the Springtime," and "The Time of Roses," +Sarojini Naidu, from _The Bird of Time_ and _The Broken Wing_; for +"Heart's Garden," Norreys Jephson O'Conor, from _Celtic Memories_; for +"Serenade," Marjorie L. C. Pickthall, from _The Lamp of Poor Souls_; for +"There is Strength in the Soil," Arthur Stringer, from _Open Water_; for +"Midsummer blooms within our quiet garden ways," "It was June in the +garden," and "Within the garden there is healthfulness," Emile +Verhaeren, from _The Sunlit Hours_ and _Afternoon_; for "In a Garden of +Granada," Thomas Walsh, from _Gardens Overseas_; for "The Garden of +Mnemosyne," Rosamund Marriott Watson, from _Collected Poems_; for +"Eden-Hunger," William Watson, from _Retrogression, and Other Poems_; +for "Spring Planting," Helen Hay Whitney, from _Herbs and Apples_. + +To Messrs. Little, Brown & Co. for "To a Weed," Gertrude Hall, from _The +Age of Fairy Gold_; for "The Green o' the Spring," Denis A. McCarthy, +from _Voices from Erin_; for "The Baby's Valentine," Laura E. Richards, +from _In my Nursery_. + +To Messrs. Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Company for "God's Garden," Richard +Burton, from _Dumb in June_. + +To Mr. David McKay for "The Blossomy Barrow" and "Da Thief," Thomas +Augustine Daly, from _Madrigali_; for "A Soft Day," W. M. Letts, from +_Songs from Leinster_. + +To The Macmillan Company for "Old Homes," Madison Cawein, from _Poems_; +for "Up a Hill and a Hill," Fannie Stearns Davis, from _Myself and I_; +for "In the Womb," A. E. (George William Russell), from _Collected +Poems_; for "To the Sweetwilliam," Norman Gale, from _Collected Poems_; +for "Roses," Wilfrid Wilson Gibson, from _Battle, and Other Poems_; for +"Rest at Noon" and "The Hummingbird," Hermann Hagedorn, from _Poems and +Ballads_; for "The Mystery," Ralph Hodgson, from _Poems_; for "The +Dandelion" and "With a Rose, to Brunhilde," Vachel Lindsay, from +_General William Booth enters into Heaven, and Other Poems_ and _A Handy +Guide for Beggars_; for "A Tulip Garden," "Fringed Gentians," and "The +Fruit Garden Path," Amy Lowell, from _Sword Blades and Poppy Seed_ and +_The Dome of Many-coloured Glass_; for "It may be so: but let the +unknown be" and "Drop me the Seed," John Masefield, from _Lollingdon +Downs, and Other Poems_; for "Samuel Gardner," Edgar Lee Masters, from +_The Spoon River Anthology_; for "Go down to Kew in lilac-time" +(selection from "The Barrel-Organ"), Alfred Noyes, from _Poems_; for +"The Messenger," James Stephens, from _Songs from the Clay_; for "The +Champa Flower" and "The Flower-School," Rabindranath Tagore, from _The +Crescent Moon_; for "Indian Summer," "Alchemy," "The Fountain," +"Barter," and "Wood Song," Sara Teasdale, from _Rivers to the Sea_ and +_Love Songs_; for "The Message," George Edward Woodberry, from _Poems_; +for "The Song of Wandering Aengus," W. B. Yeats, from _Poems_. + +To Mr. Elkin Mathews and to Mr. Rowland Thirlmere personally for "A +Shower," from _Polyclitus, and Other Poems_. + +To the Manas Press, Rochester, N.Y., for "November Night" and "Arbutus," +Adelaide Crapsey, from _Verses_. + +To Messrs. John P. Morton & Co., Louisville, Ky., for "Conscience," +Margaret Steele Anderson, from _The Flame in the Wind_. + +To Mr. Thomas Bird Mosher for "Beyond," "As in a Rose-Jar," and "My soul +is like a garden-close," Thomas S. Jones, Jr., from _The Voice in the +Silence_ and _The Rose-Jar_; for "A Seller of Herbs," "The Garden at +Bemerton," and "April Weather," Lizette Woodworth Reese, from _A Handful +of Lavender_; for "Frost To-night," Edith M. Thomas, from _The Flower +from the Ashes_; for "In an Oxford Garden" and "Old Gardens," Arthur +Upson, from _Octaves in an Oxford Garden_ and _Collected Poems_. + +To Messrs. G. P. Putnam's Sons for "In an Old Garden," Madison Cawein, +from _Moods and Melodies_; for "If I could dig like a Rabbit," Rose +Strong Hubbell, from _If I could Fly_; for "The Anxious Farmer," Burges +Johnson, from _Rhymes of Home_; for "In an August Garden," "Amiel's +Garden," and "The Garden," Gertrude Huntington McGiffert, from _A +Florentine Cycle_. + +To The Reilly & Britton Co. for "Results and Roses," Edgar A. Guest, +from _Heap o' Livin'_. + +To Mr. Grant Richards for "Loveliest of Trees," A. E. Housman, from _A +Shropshire Lad_. + +To Mr. A. M. Robertson (San Francisco) for "How many flowers are gently +met," George Sterling, from _The Testimony of the Sun, and Other Poems_. + +To Messrs. Charles Scribner's Sons for "Miracle," L. H. Bailey, from +_Wind and Weather_; for "Four O'Clocks" and "Homesick," Julia C. R. +Dorr, from _Poems and Last Poems_; for "Tell-Tale," Oliver Herford, +from _Overheard in a Garden_; for "In the Garden" and "The Deserted +Garden," Pai Ta-Shun (Frederick Peterson), from _Chinese Lyrics_ (Kelly +& Walsh, Hongkong); for "The Child in the Garden," Henry van Dyke, from +_Collected Poems_. + +To Messrs. Sherman, French & Co. for "The Trees," Samuel Valentine Cole, +from _The Great Gray King, and Other Poems_; for "Her Garden," Eldredge +Denison, from _Ballads and Lyrics_; for "Moth-Flowers," Jeanne Robert +Foster, from _Wild Apples_; for "The Little God," Katharine Howard, from +_The Little God, and Other Poems_; for "Cloud and Flower," Agnes Lee, +from _The Sharing, and Other Poems_; for "The Dials" and "The Secret," +Arthur Wallace Peach, from _The Hill Trails_; for "A Garden Prayer" and +"In Memory's Garden," Thomas Walsh, from _The Prison Ships, and Other +Poems_; for "Prayer" and "With memories and odors," John Hall Wheelock, +from _Love and Liberation_. + +To Messrs. Sidgwick & Jackson for "A Song of Fairies," by Elizabeth +Kirby, from _The Bridegroom_. + +To Messrs. Small, Maynard & Co. for "Trees," "The Garden of Dreams," and +"An April Morning," Bliss Carman, from _April Airs_; for "The Whisper of +Earth," Edward J. O'Brien, from _White Fountains_; for "The Dews" and +"Clover," John Banister Tabb, from _Lyrics_. + +To Messrs. Stewart & Kidd Company, Cincinnati, for "The Golden Bowl," +Mary McMillan, from _The Little Golden Fountain, and Other Poems_. + +To Messrs. Frederick A. Stokes Company for "A Mocking-Bird" and "The +Early Gods," Witter Bynner, from _Grenstone Poems_; for "The Proud +Vegetables" and "Iris Flowers," Mary McNeil Fenollosa, from _Blossoms +from a Japanese Garden_. + +To Mr. T. Fisher Unwin for "Autumnal," Richard Middleton, from _Poems +and Songs_. + +To Messrs. James T. White & Co. for "Flowers of June," James Terry +White, from _A Garden of Remembrance_; for "Song of the Weary Traveller," +Blanche Shoemaker Wagstaff, from _Narcissus, and Other Poems_. + +To the _Atlantic Monthly_ for "April Rain," Conrad Aiken; for "Yellow +Warblers," Katharine Lee Bates; for "Safe," Robert Haven Schauffler; for +"The Lilies," George Edward Woodberry. + +To the _Century Magazine_ for "Order," Paul Scott Mowrer. + +To the _Christian Science Monitor_ for "Family Trees," Douglas Malloch. + +To the _Churchman_ for "The Faithless Flowers," Margaret Widdemer. + +To _Contemporary Verse_ for "The Road to the Pool," Grace Hazard +Conkling; for "The Night-Moth," Marion Couthouy Smith. + +To the _Craftsman_ for "The Scissors-Man," Grace Hazard Conkling. + +To the _Delineator_ for "In my Mother's Garden," Margaret Widdemer. + +To _Everybody's Magazine_ for "Years Afterward," Nancy Byrd Turner. + +To _Harper's Monthly Magazine_ for "Progress," Charlotte Becker; for +"Oh, tell me how my garden grows," Mildred Howells; for "A Song for +Winter," Mrs. Schuyler Van Rensselaer. + +To the _Independent_ for "Blind," Harry Kemp; for "The Dusty +Hour-Glass," Amy Lowell; for "A Midsummer Garden," Clinton Scollard. + +To the _Los Angeles Graphic_ for "A White Iris," Pauline B. Barrington. + +To _Lyric_ for "July Midnight," Amy Lowell. + +To _Munsey's Magazine_ for "A Puritan Lady's Garden," Sarah N. Cleghorn; +for "Spring Song," William Griffith; for "The Fountain," Harry Kemp. + +To _Mushrooms_, published by The John Marshall Company, for "Idealists," +Alfred Kreymborg. + +To _Others: A Magazine of New Verse_ for "Reflections" ("Chinoiseries"), +Amy Lowell; for "Lord, I ask a Garden," R. Arevalo Martinez. + +To the _New York Sun_ for "A Colonial Garden," James B. Kenyon. + +To the _New York Times_ for "Grace for Gardens," Louise Driscoll; for +"The Welcome," Arthur Powell. + +To _Poetry: A Magazine of Verse_ for "Spring Song," Hilda Conkling; for +"A Lady of the Snows," Harriet Monroe; for "The Magnolia," Jose Santos +Chocano, translated by John Pierrepont Rice. + +To _Punch_ for "Lavender," W. W. Blair Fish. + +To _St. Nicholas_ for "Velvets," Hilda Conkling; for "When Swallows +Build," Catherine Parmenter. + +To _Scribner's Magazine_ for "Her Garden," Louis Dodge; for "The Path +that leads to Nowhere," Corinne Roosevelt Robinson. + +To the _Touchstone_ for "Dawn in my Garden," Marguerite Wilkinson. + +To the _Yale Review_ and to Mr. Brian Hooker personally for "Ballade of +the Dreamland Rose" from _Poems_; also to the _Yale Review_ for the +selection from "Earth," John Hall Wheelock. + + * * * * * + +Personal acknowledgment is also made to the following poets and +individual owners of copyrights:-- + +To Miss Zoe Akins for "The Snow-Gardens." + +To Mr. William Stanley Braithwaite and to Mr. Fletcher personally for +"Spring," John Gould Fletcher, printed in the _Poetry Review_. + +To M. G. Brereton for "The Old Brocade" from _A Celtic Christmas_. + +To Miss Abbie Farwell Brown for "The Wall" in manuscript. + +To Mrs. Grace Hazard Conkling for "The Rose" in manuscript. + +To Mr. Miles M. Dawson for "The Thistle" from _Songs of the New Time_. + +To Violet Fane (Lady Curie) for "To a New Sun-Dial" from _Collected +Poems_. + +To Mrs. Mary McNeil Fenollosa for "Birth of the Flowers." + +To Mr. Arthur Guiterman for "Tulips" and "Columbines" in manuscript. + +To Miss Mary R. Jewett for "Flowers in the Dark," Sarah Orne Jewett, +from _Verses_ (privately printed). + +To Rev. Arthur Ketchum for "The Spirit of the Birch" in manuscript. + +To Miss Hannah Parker Kimball for "Sun, Cardinal, and Corn Flowers" from +_Soul and Sense_. + +To Mr. William Lindsey for "Two Roses" from _Apples of Istakhar_. + +To Catherine Markham (Mrs. Edwin Markham) for "A Garden Friend." + +To Mr. Lloyd Mifflin for "Draw closer, O ye Trees" from _The Flying +Nymph, and Other Verse_. + +To Miss Angela Morgan for "The Awakening" in manuscript. + +To E. Nesbit (Mrs. Hubert Bland) for "Baby Seed Song." + +To Mr. Shaemas O Sheel for "While April Rain went by" from _The Light +Feet of Goats_ (The Franklin Press). + +To Mr. Clinton Scollard for "The Crocus Flame," and "Sunflowers," from +_Ballads Patriotic and Romantic_; for "In the Garden-Close at Mezra" and +"In an Egyptian Garden" from _The Lutes of Morn_. + +To Mrs. Emily Selinger for "Over the Garden Wall." + +To Mrs. May Riley Smith for "Sorrow in a Garden" in manuscript. + +To the estate of Frank L. Stanton for "Sweetheart-Lady." + +To Mr. Charles Wharton Stork for "Boulders" in manuscript, and for +"Color Notes," printed in _Lippincott's Magazine_. + +To Mr. Charles Hanson Towne for "A White Rose." + +To Katharine Tynan (Mrs. Henry Albert Hinkson) for "The Choice," +published by Messrs. Sidgwick & Jackson in _The Poems of To-day_, an +anthology. + +To Mr. Frederic A. Whiting for his own poems "A Rose Lover" and "A +Wonder Garden" in manuscript and for "Kinfolk" by Kate Whiting Patch. + +To Mr. Clement Wood for "Rose-Geranium" from _Glad of Earth_. + +To Mr. Henry A. Wise Wood for "The Joy of a Summer Day." + + +NOTE + +With very few exceptions only the poets who are writing to-day, or who +have written within a period of ten years, are represented in this +collection; and certain favorite poems peculiarly suited to the spirit +of this book which chanced to be included in _High Tide_ may be missed +here. G. M. R. + + + + +CONTENTS + + + WITHIN GARDEN WALLS + + Earth _John Hall Wheelock_ 2 + + The Furrow _Padraic Colum_ 3 + + "There is strength in the soil" _Arthur Stringer_ 4 + + In the Womb "_A. E._" 4 + + Putting in the Seed _Robert Frost_ 5 + + The Whisper of Earth _Edward J. O'Brien_ 6 + + "Within the garden there is healthfulness" _Emile Verhaeren_ 6 + + In a Garden _Horace Holley_ 7 + + A Shower _Rowland Thirlmere_ 8 + + The Rain _William H. Davies_ 9 + + The Dews _John B. Tabb_ 9 + + Sonnet _John Masefield_ 10 + + Charm: To be said in the Sun _Josephine Preston Peabody_ 11 + + The Dials _Arthur Wallace Peach_ 12 + + To a New Sundial _Violet Fane_ 13 + + The Fountain _Harry Kemp_ 14 + + + THE PAGEANTRY OF GARDENS + + The Birth of the Flowers _Mary McNeil Fenollosa_ 18 + + The Welcome _Arthur Powell_ 19 + + The Joy of the Springtime _Sarojini Naidu_ 20 + + Spring _John Gould Fletcher_ 20 + + Primavera _George Cabot Lodge_ 21 + + The Green o' the Spring _Denis A. McCarthy_ 22 + + An April Morning _Bliss Carman_ 23 + + "With memories and odors" _John Hall Wheelock_ 24 + + April Rain _Conrad Aiken_ 25 + + While April Rain went by _Shaemas O Sheel_ 25 + + Spring _Francis Ledwidge_ 26 + + April Weather _Lizette Woodworth Reese_ 27 + + Daffodils _Ruth Guthrie Harding_ 28 + + The Crocus Flame _Clinton Scollard_ 28 + + The Early Gods _Witter Bynner_ 30 + + A Tulip Garden _Amy Lowell_ 30 + + Tulips _Arthur Guiterman_ 31 + + A White Iris _Pauline B. Barrington_ 32 + + May is building her House _Richard Le Gallienne_ 33 + + The Magnolia _Jose Santos Chocano_ 34 + + "Go down to Kew in lilac-time" _Alfred Noyes_ 35 + + Beyond _Thomas S. Jones, Jr._ 36 + + June _Douglas Malloch_ 36 + + June Rapture _Angela Morgan_ 37 + + Columbines _Arthur Guiterman_ 39 + + The Morning-Glory _Florence Earle Coates_ 40 + + The Blossomy Barrow _T. A. Daly_ 40 + + Larkspur _James Oppenheim_ 42 + + The July Garden _Robert Ernest Vernede_ 43 + + "Mid-summer blooms within our quiet garden-ways" + _Emile Verhaeren_ 44 + + Poppies _John Russell Hayes_ 45 + + The Garden in August _Gertrude Huntington McGiffert_ 46 + + Sun, Cardinal, and Corn Flowers _Hannah Parker Kimball_ 48 + + Sunflowers _Clinton Scollard_ 48 + + The End of Summer _Edna St. Vincent Millay_ 49 + + A Late Walk _Robert Frost_ 50 + + Color Notes _Charles Wharton Stork_ 50 + + The Golden Bowl _Mary McMillan_ 51 + + The Autumn Rose _Antoinette De Coursey Patterson_ 52 + + Indian Summer _Sara Teasdale_ 53 + + "Frost to-night" _Edith M. Thomas_ 54 + + November Night _Adelaide Crapsey_ 55 + + The Snow-Gardens _Zoe Akins_ 55 + + A Song for Winter _Mrs. Schuyler Van Rensselaer_ 57 + + + WINGS AND SONG + + "I meant to do my work to-day" _Richard Le Gallienne_ 60 + + The Hummingbird _Hermann Hagedorn_ 61 + + Spring Song _William Griffith_ 62 + + Nightingales _Grace Hazard Conkling_ 63 + + The Goldfinch _Odell Shepard_ 63 + + Kinfolk _Kate Whiting Patch_ 65 + + A Mocking-Bird _Witter Bynner_ 65 + + The Cardinal-Bird _Arthur Guiterman_ 66 + + Yellow Warblers _Katharine Lee Bates_ 67 + + Witchery _Frank Dempster Sherman_ 68 + + The Spring Beauties _Helen Gray Cone_ 68 + + The Mocking-Bird _Frank L. Stanton_ 69 + + The Messenger _James Stephens_ 71 + + Fireflies _Antoinette De Coursey Patterson_ 72 + + July Midnight _Amy Lowell_ 72 + + The Cricket in the Path _Amelia Josephine Burr_ 73 + + Rest at Noon _Hermann Hagedorn_ 74 + + Order _Paul Scott Mowrer_ 75 + + The Night-Moth _Marion Couthouy Smith_ 75 + + The Butterfly _Edwin Markham_ 76 + + The Secret _Arthur Wallace Peach_ 77 + + + THE GARDENS OF YESTERDAY + + The Garden _Gertrude Huntington McGiffert_ 80 + + Old Homes _Madison Cawein_ 81 + + A Puritan Lady's Garden _Sarah N. Cleghorn_ 82 + + The Old-fashioned Garden _John Russell Hayes_ 83 + + A Colonial Garden _James B. Kenyon_ 86 + + In my Mother's Garden _Margaret Widdemer_ 87 + + To the Sweetwilliam _Norman Gale_ 88 + + Rose-Geranium _Clement Wood_ 90 + + Four O'Clocks _Julia C. R. Dorr_ 91 + + Asking for Roses _Robert Frost_ 92 + + The Old Brocade _M. G. Brereton_ 93 + + Stairways and Gardens _Ella Wheeler Wilcox_ 94 + + Old Mothers _Charles Ross_ 95 + + + PASTURES AND HILLSIDES + + Song from "April" _Irene Rutherford McLeod_ 98 + + The Road to the Pool _Grace Hazard Conkling_ 99 + + The Wild Rose _Charles Buxton Going_ 99 + + Up a Hill and a Hill _Fannie Stearns Davis_ 100 + + The Joys of a Summer Morning _Henry A. Wise Wood_ 101 + + South Wind _Siegfried Sassoon_ 102 + + To a Weed _Gertrude Hall_ 102 + + The Pasture _Robert Frost_ 104 + + The Thistle _Miles M. Dawson_ 104 + + Clover _John B. Tabb_ 105 + + Wild Gardens _Ada Foster Murray_ 106 + + The Dandelion _Vachel Lindsay_ 107 + + Joe-Pyeweed _Louis Untermeyer_ 108 + + To a Daisy _Alice Meynell_ 109 + + A Soft Day _W. M. Letts_ 110 + + Arbutus _Adelaide Crapsey_ 111 + + Jewel-Weed _Florence Earle Coates_ 111 + + The Wall _Abbie Farwell Brown_ 112 + + Boulders _Charles Wharton Stork_ 114 + + Afternoon on a Hill _Edna St. Vincent Millay_ 115 + + The Golden-Rod _Margaret Deland_ 116 + + The Path that leads to Nowhere _Corinne Roosevelt Robinson_ 117 + + + LOVERS AND ROSES + + The Message _George Edward Woodberry_ 120 + + "Where love is life" _Duncan Campbell Scott_ 121 + + The Time of Roses _Sarojini Naidu_ 122 + + Love planted a Rose _Katharine Lee Bates_ 123 + + The Garden _Alice Meynell_ 123 + + Cloud and Flower _Agnes Lee_ 124 + + Progress _Charlotte Becker_ 125 + + "But we did walk in Eden" _Josephine Preston Peabody_ 125 + + A Garden-Piece _Edmund Gosse_ 126 + + "How many flowers are gently met" _George Sterling_ 127 + + With a Rose, to Brunhilde _Vachel Lindsay_ 127 + + "My soul is like a garden-close" _Thomas S. Jones, Jr._ 128 + + A Dream _Antoinette De Coursey Patterson_ 129 + + The Rose _Grace Hazard Conkling_ 130 + + Prayer _John Hall Wheelock_ 130 + + In a Garden _Livingston L. Biddle_ 131 + + A Song of Fairies _Elizabeth Kirby_ 131 + + A Song to Belinda _Theodosia Garrison_ 132 + + Sweetheart-Lady _Frank L. Stanton_ 133 + + Heart's Garden _Norreys Jephson O'Conor_ 133 + + A Rose Lover _Frederic A. Whiting_ 134 + + Sonnet _Elsa Barker_ 135 + + A Song in a Garden _Theodosia Garrison_ 135 + + "It was June in the garden" _Emile Verhaeren_ 136 + + Two Roses _William Lindsey_ 138 + + Roses _Wilfrid Wilson Gibson_ 138 + + Her Garden _Louis Dodge_ 139 + + AEre Perennius _Charles Hanson Towne_ 139 + + Ever the Same _Josephine Preston Peabody_ 140 + + The Message _Helen Hay Whitney_ 141 + + Tell-Tale _Oliver Herford_ 142 + + Da Thief _T. A. Daly_ 143 + + Results and Roses _Edgar A. Guest_ 145 + + + UNDERNEATH THE BOUGH + + Miracle _L. H. Bailey_ 148 + + The Awakening _Angela Morgan_ 149 + + Shade _Theodosia Garrison_ 150 + + Selection from "Under the Trees" _Anna Hempstead Branch_ 151 + + A Garden Friend _Catherine Markham_ (_Mrs. Edwin Markham_) 152 + + A Lady of the Snows _Harriet Monroe_ 153 + + The Tree _Evelyn Underhill_ 153 + + "Loveliest of trees" _A. E. Housman_ 155 + + The Spirit of the Birch _Arthur Ketchum_ 156 + + Family Trees _Douglas Malloch_ 156 + + Idealists _Alfred Kreymborg_ 158 + + "Draw closer, O ye trees" _Lloyd Mifflin_ 159 + + Trees _Bliss Carman_ 160 + + The Trees _Samuel Valentine Cole_ 162 + + The Poplars _Theodosia Garrison_ 164 + + Trees _Joyce Kilmer_ 165 + + + THE LOST GARDENS OF THE HEART + + As in a Rose-Jar _Thomas S. Jones, Jr._ 168 + + In an Old Garden _Madison Cawein_ 169 + + The Garden of Dreams _Bliss Carman_ 169 + + Homesick _Julia C. R. Dorr_ 170 + + The Ways of Time _William H. Davies_ 172 + + A Midsummer Garden _Clinton Scollard_ 172 + + The White Rose _Charles Hanson Towne_ 173 + + A Haunted Garden _Louis Untermeyer_ 174 + + The Dusty Hour-Glass _Amy Lowell_ 176 + + The Song of Wandering Aengus _W. B. Yeats_ 177 + + The Three Cherry Trees _Walter de la Mare_ 178 + + Old Gardens _Arthur Upson_ 179 + + The Blooming of the Rose _Anna Hempstead Branch_ 179 + + The Garden of Mnemosyne _Rosamund Marriott Watson_ 181 + + Ballade of the Dreamland Rose _Brian Hooker_ 181 + + The Flowers of June _James Terry White_ 183 + + In Memory's Garden _Thomas Walsh_ 183 + + Serenade _Marjorie L. C. Pickthall_ 184 + + "What heart but fears a fragrance?" _Martha Gilbert + Dickinson Bianchi_ 185 + + Years Afterward _Nancy Byrd Turner_ 186 + + Autumnal _Richard Middleton_ 186 + + "Oh, tell me how my garden grows" _Mildred Howells_ 188 + + Her Garden _Eldredge Denison_ 189 + + The Little Ghost _Edna St. Vincent Millay_ 190 + + Roses in the Subway _Dana Burnet_ 191 + + + THE GARDEN OVER-SEAS + + A Garden Prayer _Thomas Walsh_ 194 + + In the Garden-Close at Mezra _Clinton Scollard_ 195 + + The Cactus _Laurence Hope_ 195 + + The White Peacock _William Sharp_ 196 + + At Isola Bella _Jessie B. Rittenhouse_ 198 + + The Fountain _Sara Teasdale_ 199 + + The Champa Flower _Rabindranath Tagore_ 200 + + In an Egyptian Garden _Clinton Scollard_ 201 + + Evening in Old Japan _Antoinette De Coursey Patterson_ 202 + + Reflections _Amy Lowell_ 203 + + In the Garden _Pai Ta-Shun_ 204 + + The Deserted Garden _Pai Ta-Shun_ 204 + + A Roman Garden _Florence Wilkinson Evans_ 205 + + Como in April _Robert Underwood Johnson_ 207 + + An Exile's Garden _Sophie Jewett_ 207 + + The Cloister Garden at Certosa _Richard Burton_ 208 + + A Garden in Venice _Dorothy Frances Gurney_ 209 + + In a Garden of Granada _Thomas Walsh_ 210 + + Amiel's Garden _Gertrude Huntington McGiffert_ 211 + + Eden-Hunger _William Watson_ 212 + + The Garden at Bemerton _Lizette Woodworth Reese_ 212 + + In an Oxford Garden _Arthur Upson_ 213 + + + THE HOMELY GARDEN + + "Grandmother's gathering boneset" _Edith M. Thomas_ 216 + + A Breath of Mint _Grace Hazard Conkling_ 217 + + A Seller of Herbs _Lizette Woodworth Reese_ 218 + + Lavender _W. W. Blair Fish_ 219 + + Dawn in my Garden _Marguerite Wilkinson_ 221 + + The Proud Vegetables _Mary McNeil Fenollosa_ 221 + + The Choice _Katharine Tynan_ 223 + + Thoughts fer the Discuraged Farmer _James Whitcomb Riley_ 225 + + Grace for Gardens _Louise Driscoll_ 226 + + + SILVER BELLS AND COCKLE SHELLS + + Planting _Robert Livingston_ 230 + + Spring Patchwork _Abbie Farwell Brown_ 231 + + Baby's Valentine _Laura E. Richards_ 232 + + Baby Seed Song _E. Nesbit_ 234 + + Rain in the Night _Amelia Josephine Burr_ 235 + + A Little Girl's Songs--I, Spring Song; II, Velvets (By a + Bed of Pansies) _Hilda Conkling_ (_six years old_) 236 + + When Swallows Build _Catherine Parmenter_ (_eleven years + old_) 238 + + Spring Planting _Helen Hay Whitney_ 239 + + If I could dig like a Rabbit _Rose Strong Hubbell_ 239 + + The Little God _Katharine Howard_ 240 + + Daisies _Frank Dempster Sherman_ 241 + + The Anxious Farmer _Burges Johnson_ 242 + + Over the Garden Wall _Emily Selinger_ 243 + + The Flowerphone _Abbie Farwell Brown_ 244 + + The Faithless Flowers _Margaret Widdemer_ 245 + + The Flower-School _Rabindranath Tagore_ 246 + + Iris Flowers _Mary McNeil Fenollosa_ 247 + + If I were a Fairy _Charles Buxton Going_ 249 + + Fringed Gentians _Amy Lowell_ 250 + + The Scissors-Man _Grace Hazard Conkling_ 250 + + + THE GARDEN OF LIFE + + God's Garden _Richard Burton_ 254 + + "The Lord God planted a garden" _Dorothy Frances Gurney_ 255 + + The Lilies _George E. Woodberry_ 255 + + Barter _Sara Teasdale_ 256 + + Sonnet _John Masefield_ 257 + + The Tilling _Cale Young Rice_ 258 + + Safe _Robert Haven Schauffler_ 259 + + Sorrow in a Garden _May Riley Smith_ 260 + + Moth-Flowers _Jeanne Robert Foster_ 262 + + Alchemy _Sara Teasdale_ 262 + + Flowers in the Dark _Sarah Orne Jewett_ 263 + + Welcome _John Curtis Underwood_ 264 + + The Child in the Garden _Henry van Dyke_ 265 + + A Wonder Garden _Frederic A. Whiting_ 266 + + From a Car-Window _Ruth Guthrie Harding_ 267 + + Song of the Weary Traveller _Blanche Shoemaker Wagstaff_ 267 + + Cobwebs _Louise Imogen Guiney_ 268 + + Blind _Harry Kemp_ 269 + + Herb of Grace _Amelia Josephine Burr_ 270 + + Before Mary of Magdala came _Edwin Markham_ 270 + + Conscience _Margaret Steele Anderson_ 273 + + Rosa Mystica _Katharine Tynan_ 273 + + The Mystery _Ralph Hodgson_ 275 + + The Rose _Angela Morgan_ 275 + + For These _Edward Thomas_ (_Edward Eastaway_) 276 + + Samuel Gardner _Edgar Lee Masters_ 277 + + Seeds _John Oxenham_ 278 + + "Lord, I ask a Garden" _R. Arevalo Martinez_ 279 + + My Flower-Room _Ella Wheeler Wilcox_ 280 + + "Vestured and veiled with twilight" _Rosamund Marriott + Watson_ 282 + + The Fruit Garden Path _Amy Lowell_ 283 + + Wood Song _Sara Teasdale_ 284 + + A Prayer _Edwin Markham_ 284 + + The Philosopher's Garden _John Oxenham_ 285 + + + Index of Titles 287 + + Index of Authors 297 + + + * * * * * + + + + + WITHIN GARDEN WALLS + + +EARTH + + _Grasshopper, your fairy song + And my poem alike belong + To the deep and silent earth + From which all poetry has birth; + All we say and all we sing + Is but as the murmuring + Of that drowsy heart of hers + When from her deep dream she stirs: + If we sorrow, or rejoice, + You and I are but her voice._ + + _Deftly does the dust express + In mind her hidden loveliness, + And from her cool silence stream + The cricket's cry and Dante's dream: + For the earth that breeds the trees + Breeds cities too, and symphonies, + Equally her beauty flows + Into a savior or a rose._ + + * * * * * + + _Even as the growing grass + Up from the soil religions pass, + And the field that bears the rye + Bears parables and prophecy. + Out of the earth the poem grows + Like the lily, or the rose; + And all that man is or yet may be, + Is but herself in agony + Toiling up the steep ascent + Towards the complete accomplishment + When all dust shall be, the whole + Universe, one conscious soul._ + + * * * * * + + _Yea, and this my poem, too, + Is part of her as dust and dew, + Wherein herself she doth declare + Through my lips, and say her prayer._ + + JOHN HALL WHEELOCK + + +THE FURROW + + Stride the hill, sower, + Up to the sky-ridge, + Flinging the seed, + Scattering, exultant! + Mouthing great rhythms + To the long sea beats + On the wide shore, behind + The ridge of the hillside. + + Below in the darkness-- + The slumber of mothers-- + The cradles at rest-- + The fire-seed sleeping + Deep in white ashes! + + Give to darkness and sleep: + O sower, O seer! + Give me to the Earth. + With the seed I would enter. + O! the growth thro' the silence + From strength to new strength; + Then the strong bursting forth + Against primal forces, + To laugh in the sunshine, + To gladden the world! + + PADRAIC COLUM + + +"THERE IS STRENGTH IN THE SOIL" + + There is strength in the soil; + In the earth there is laughter and youth. + There is solace and hope in the upturned loam. + And lo, I shall plant my soul in it here like a seed! + And forth it shall come to me as a flower of song; + For I know it is good to get back to the earth + That is orderly, placid, all-patient! + It is good to know how quiet + And noncommittal it breathes, + This ample and opulent bosom + That must some day nurse us all! + + ARTHUR STRINGER + + +IN THE WOMB + + Still rests the heavy share on the dark soil: + Upon the black mould thick the dew-damp lies: + The horse waits patient: from his lowly toil + The ploughboy to the morning lifts his eyes. + + The unbudding hedgerows dark against day's fires + Glitter with gold-lit crystals: on the rim + Over the unregarding city's spires + The lonely beauty shines alone for him. + + And day by day the dawn or dark unfolds + And feeds with beauty eyes that cannot see + How in her womb the mighty mother moulds + The infant spirit for eternity. + + "A. E." + (GEORGE WILLIAM RUSSELL) + + +PUTTING IN THE SEED + + You come to fetch me from my work to-night + When supper's on the table, and we'll see + If I can leave off burying the white + Soft petals fallen from the apple tree. + + (Soft petals, yes, but not so barren quite, + Mingled with these, smooth bean and wrinkled pea;) + And go along with you ere you lose sight + Of what you came for and become like me, + + Slave to a springtime passion for the earth. + How Love burns through the Putting in the Seed + On through the watching for that early birth + When, just as the soil tarnishes with weed, + + The sturdy seedling with arched body comes + Shouldering its way and shedding the earth crumbs. + + ROBERT FROST + + +THE WHISPER OF EARTH + + In the misty hollow, shyly greening branches + Soften to the south wind, bending to the rain. + From the moistened earthland flutter little whispers, + Breathing hidden beauty, innocent of stain. + + Little plucking fingers tremble through the grasses, + Little silent voices sigh the dawn of spring, + Little burning earth-flames break the awful stillness, + Little crying wind-sounds come before the King. + + Powers, dominations urge the budding of the crocus, + Cherubim are singing in the moist cool stone, + Seraphim are calling through the channels of the lily, + God has heard the earth-cry and journeys to His throne. + + EDWARD J. O'BRIEN + + +"WITHIN THE GARDEN THERE IS HEALTHFULNESS" + + Within the garden there is healthfulness. + + Lavishly it gives it us + In light that cleaves + To every movement of its thousand hands + Of palms and leaves. + + And the good shade where it accepts, + After long journeyings, + Our steps, + Pours on the weary limb + A force of life and sweetness like + Its mosses dim. + + When the lake is playing with the wind and sun. + It seems a crimson heart + Within, all ardent, has begun + To throb with the moving wave; + The gladiolus and the fervent rose, + Which in their splendor move unshadowed, + Upon their vital stems expose + Their cups of gold and red. + + Within the garden there is healthfulness. + + EMILE VERHAEREN + + +IN A GARDEN + + I stood within a Garden during rain + Uncovering to the drops my lifted brow: + O joyous fancy, to imagine now + I slip, with trees and clouds, the social chain, + Alone with nature, naught to lose or gain + Nor even to become; no, just to be + A moment's personal essence, wholly free + From needs that mold the heart to forms of pain. + Arise, I cried, and celebrate the hour! + Acclaim serener gladness; if it fail, + New courage, nobler vision, will survive + That I have known my kinship to the flower, + My brotherhood with rain, and in this vale + Have been a moment's friend to all alive. + + HORACE HOLLEY + + +A SHOWER + + You may have seen, when winds were high, + That hesitant buds would not unfold + In garden-borders chill and dry, + Bright with the Easter-lilies' gold. + + Then, suddenly, would come a shower-- + The big breeze veering to the west-- + And happier music filled the bower + Above the thrush's hidden nest: + + The elm-tree's inconspicuous bloom + Vanished amidst her little leaves; + In box and bay a fragrant gloom + Inspired the wren's recitatives: + + The woods assumed their delicate green + And spoke in songs that brought you bliss: + Ay, and your withered heart has been + Quickened on such a day as this! + + ROWLAND THIRLMERE + + +THE RAIN + + I hear leaves drinking Rain; + I hear rich leaves on top + Giving the poor beneath + Drop after drop; + 'Tis a sweet noise to hear + These green leaves drinking near. + + And when the Sun comes out, + After this Rain shall stop, + A wondrous Light will fill + Each dark, round drop; + I hope the Sun shines bright; + 'Twill be a lovely sight. + + WILLIAM H. DAVIES + + +THE DEWS + + We come and go, as the breezes blow, + But whence or where + Hath ne'er been told in the legends old + By the dreaming seer. + The welcome rain to the parching plain + And the languid leaves, + The rattling hail on the burnished mail + Of the serried sheaves, + The silent snow on the wintry brow + Of the aged year, + Wends each his way in the track of day + From a clouded sphere: + But still as the fog in the dismal bog + Where the shifting sheen + Of the spectral lamp lights the marshes damp, + With a flash unseen + We drip through the night from the starlids bright, + On the sleeping flowers, + And deep in their breast is our perfumed rest + Through the darkened hours: + But again with the day we are up and away + With our stolen dyes, + To paint all the shrouds of the drifting clouds + In the eastern skies. + + JOHN B. TABB + + +SONNET + + It may be so; but let the unknown be. + We, on this earth, are servants of the sun. + Out of the sun comes all the quick in me, + His golden touch is life to everyone. + + His power it is that makes us spin through space, + His youth is April and his manhood bread, + Beauty is but a looking on his face, + He clears the mind, he makes the roses red. + + What he may be, who knows? But we are his, + We roll through nothing round him, year by year, + The withering leaves upon a tree which is + Each with his greed, his little power, his fear. + + What we may be, who knows? But everyone + Is dust on dust a servant of the sun. + + JOHN MASEFIELD + + +CHARM: TO BE SAID IN THE SUN + + I reach my arms up, to the sky, + And golden vine on vine + Of sunlight showered wild and high, + Around my brows I twine. + + I wreathe, I wind it everywhere, + The burning radiancy + Of brightness that no eye may dare, + To be the strength of me. + + Come, redness of the crystalline, + Come green, come hither blue + And violet--all alive within, + For I have need of you. + + Come honey-hue and flush of gold, + And through the pallor run, + With pulse on pulse of manifold + New largess of the Sun! + + O steep the silence till it sing! + O glories from the height, + Come down, where I am garlanding + With light, a child of light! + + JOSEPHINE PRESTON PEABODY + + +THE DIALS + + With fingers softer than the touch of death + The sundial writes the passing of the day, + The hours unfolding slow to twilight gray, + The gleaming moments vanish in a breath. + + But sunny hours alone the sundial names; + All unrecorded are the midnight spans + And vain within the dusk the watcher scans + The marble face; thereon no record flames. + + So on eternal dials that God may hold, + And those more humble in the human heart, + No bitter deeds their passing hours impart; + Kind deeds alone are marked in fadeless gold! + + ARTHUR WALLACE PEACH + + +TO A NEW SUNDIAL + + Oh, Sundial, you should not be young, + Or fresh and fair, or spick and span! + None should remember when began + Your tenure here, nor whence you sprung! + + Like ancient cromlech notch'd and scarr'd, + I would have had you sadly tow'r + Above this world of leaf and flower + All ivy-tress'd and lichen-starr'd; + + Ambassador of Time and Fate, + In contrast stern to bud and bloom, + Seeming half temple and half tomb, + And wholly solemn and sedate; + + Till, one with God's own works on earth, + The lake, the vale, the mountain-brow, + We might have come to count you now + Whose home was here before our birth. + + But lo! a priggish, upstart thing-- + Set here to tell so old a truth-- + How fleeting are our days of youth-- + _You_, that were only made last spring! + + Go to!... What sermon can you preach, + Oh, mushroom--mentor pert and new? + We are too old to learn of you + What you are all too young to teach! + + Yet, Sundial, you and I may swear + Eternal friendship, none the less, + For I'll respect your youthfulness + If you'll forgive my silver hair! + + VIOLET FANE + + +THE FOUNTAIN + + I thought my garden finished. I beheld + Each bush bee-visited; a green charm quelled + The louder winds to music; soft boughs made + Patches of silver dusk and purple shade-- + And yet I felt a lack of something still. + + There was a little, sleepy-footed rill + That lapsed among sun-burnished stones, where slept + Fish, rainbow-scaled, while dragon-flies, adept, + Balanced on bending grass. + + All perfect? No. + My garden lacked a fountain's upward flow. + I coaxed the brook's young Naiad to resign + Her meadow wildness, building her a shrine + Of worship, where each ravished waif of air + Might wanton in the brightness of her hair. + + So here my fountain flows, loved of the wind, + To every vagrant, aimless gust inclined, + Yet constant ever to its source. It greets + The face of morning, wavering windy sheets + Of woven silver; sheer it climbs the noon, + A shaft of bronze; and underneath the moon + It sleeps in pearl and opal. In the storm + It streams far out, a wild, gray, blowing form; + While on calm days it heaps above the lake,-- + Pelting the dreaming lilies half awake, + And pattering jewels on each wide, green frond,-- + Recurrent pyramids of diamond! + + HARRY KEMP + + + + + THE PAGEANTRY OF GARDENS + + +THE BIRTH OF THE FLOWERS + + _God spoke! and from the arid scene + Sprang rich and verdant bowers, + Till all the earth was soft with green,-- + He smiled; and there were flowers._ + + MARY MCNEIL FENOLLOSA + + +THE WELCOME + + God spreads a carpet soft and green + O'er which we pass; + A thick-piled mat of jeweled sheen-- + And that is Grass. + + Delightful music woos the ear; + The grass is stirred + Down to the heart of every spear-- + Ah, that's a Bird. + + Clouds roll before a blue immense + That stretches high + And lends the soul exalted sense-- + That scroll's a Sky. + + Green rollers flaunt their sparkling crests; + Their jubilee + Extols brave Captains and their quests-- + And that is Sea. + + New-leaping grass, the feathery flute, + The sapphire ring, + The sea's full-voiced, profound salute,-- + Ah, this is Spring! + + ARTHUR POWELL + + +THE JOY OF THE SPRINGTIME + + Springtime, O Springtime, what is your essence, + The lilt of a bulbul, the laugh of a rose, + The dance of the dew on the wings of a moonbeam, + The voice of the zephyr that sings as he goes, + The hope of a bride or the dream of a maiden + Watching the petals of gladness unclose? + + Springtime, O Springtime, what is your secret, + The bliss at the core of your magical mirth, + That quickens the pulse of the morning to wonder + And hastens the seeds of all beauty to birth, + That captures the heavens and conquers to blossom + The roots of delight in the heart of the earth? + + SAROJINI NAIDU + + +SPRING + + At the first hour, it was as if one said, "Arise." + At the second hour, it was as if one said, "Go forth." + And the winter constellations that are like patient ox-eyes + Sank below the white horizon at the north. + + At the third hour, it was as if one said, "I thirst;" + At the fourth hour, all the earth was still: + Then the clouds suddenly swung over, stooped, and burst; + And the rain flooded valley, plain and hill. + + At the fifth hour, darkness took the throne; + At the sixth hour, the earth shook and the wind cried; + At the seventh hour, the hidden seed was sown, + At the eighth hour, it gave up the ghost and died. + + At the ninth hour, they sealed up the tomb; + And the earth was then silent for the space of three hours. + But at the twelfth hour, a single lily from the gloom + Shot forth, and was followed by a whole host of flowers. + + JOHN GOULD FLETCHER + + +PRIMAVERA + + Spirit immortal of mortality, + Imperishable faith, calm miracle + Of resurrection, truth no tongue can tell, + No brain conceive,--now witnessed utterly + In this new testament of earth and sea,-- + To us thy gospel! Where the acorn fell + The oak-tree springs: no seed is infidel! + Once more, O Wonder, flower and field and tree + Reveal thy secret and significance! + And we, who share unutterable things + And feel the foretaste of eternity, + Haply shall learn thy meaning and perchance + Set free the soul to lift immortal wings + And cross the frontiers of infinity. + + GEORGE CABOT LODGE + + +THE GREEN O' THE SPRING + + Sure, afther all the winther, + An' afther all the snow, + 'Tis fine to see the sunshine, + 'Tis fine to feel its glow; + 'Tis fine to see the buds break + On boughs that bare have been-- + But best of all to Irish eyes + 'Tis grand to see the green! + + Sure, afther all the winther, + An' afther all the snow, + 'Tis fine to hear the brooks sing + As on their way they go; + 'Tis fine to hear at mornin' + The voice of robineen, + But best of all to Irish eyes + 'Tis grand to see the green! + + Sure, here in grim New England + The spring is always slow, + An' every bit o' green grass + Is kilt wid frost and snow; + Ah, many a heart is weary + The winther days, I ween + But oh, the joy when springtime comes + An' brings the blessed green! + + DENIS A. MCCARTHY + + +AN APRIL MORNING + + Once more in misted April + The world is growing green. + Along the winding river + The plumey willows lean. + + Beyond the sweeping meadows + The looming mountains rise, + Like battlements of dreamland + Against the brooding skies. + + In every wooded valley + The buds are breaking through, + As though the heart of all things + No languor ever knew. + + The golden-wings and bluebirds + Call to their heavenly choirs. + The pines are blued and drifted + With smoke of brushwood fires. + + And in my sister's garden + Where little breezes run, + The golden daffodillies + Are blowing in the sun. + + BLISS CARMAN + + +"WITH MEMORIES AND ODORS" + + With memories and odors + The wind is warm and mild; + The earth is like a mother + Where leaps the unborn child. + + The grackles flock returning + Like rain-clouds from the south. + And all the world lies yearning + Toward summer, mouth to mouth. + + How soft the hills and hazy + Seen through the open door!-- + The crocus shines, a virgin, + White from the grassy floor. + + The children whirl around in a ring, + And laugh and sing, and dance and sing: + But the blackbird whistles clear, + O clear, + "The Spring, the Spring!" + + JOHN HALL WHEELOCK + + +APRIL RAIN + + Fall, rain! You are the blood of coming blossom, + You shall be music in the young birds' throats, + You shall be breaking, soon, in silver notes; + A virgin laughter in the young earth's bosom. + Oh, that I could with you reenter earth, + Pass through her heart and come again to sun, + Out of her fertile dark to sing and run + In loveliness and fragrance of new mirth! + Fall, rain! Into the dust I go with you, + Pierce the remaining snows with subtle fire, + Warming the frozen roots with soft desire, + Dreams of ascending leaves and flowers new. + I am no longer body,--I am blood + Seeking for some new loveliness of shape; + Dark loveliness that dreams of new escape, + The sun-surrender of unclosing bud. + Take me, O Earth! and make me what you will; + I feel my heart with mingled music fill. + + CONRAD AIKEN + + +WHILE APRIL RAIN WENT BY + + Under a budding hedge I hid + While April rain went by, + But little drops came slipping through, + Fresh from a laughing sky: + + A-many little scurrying drops, + Laughing the song they sing, + Soon found me where I sought to hide, + And pelted me with Spring. + + And I lay back and let them pelt, + And dreamt deliciously + Of lusty leaves and lady-blossoms + And baby-buds I'd see + + When April rain had laughed the land + Out of its wintry way, + And coaxed all growing things to greet + With gracious garb the May. + + SHAEMAS O SHEEL + + +SPRING + + The dews drip roses on the meadows + Where the meek daisies dot the sward. + And AEolus whispers through the shadows, + "Behold the handmaid of the Lord!" + The golden news the skylark waketh + And 'thwart the heavens his flight is curled; + Attend ye as the first note breaketh + And chrism droppeth on the world. + + The velvet dusk still haunts the stream + Where Pan makes music light and gay. + The mountain mist hath caught a beam + And slowly weeps itself away. + The young leaf bursts its chrysalis + And gem-like hangs upon the bough, + Where the mad throstle sings in bliss + O'er earth's rejuvenated brow. + + ENVOI + + Slowly fall, O golden sands, + Slowly fall and let me sing, + Wrapt in the ecstasy of youth, + The wild delights of Spring. + + FRANCIS LEDWIDGE + + +APRIL WEATHER + + Oh, hush, my heart, and take thine ease, + For here is April weather! + The daffodils beneath the trees + Are all a-row together. + + The thrush is back with his old note; + The scarlet tulip blowing; + And white--ay, white as my love's throat-- + The dogwood boughs are glowing. + + The lilac bush is sweet again; + Down every wind that passes, + Fly flakes from hedgerow and from lane; + The bees are in the grasses. + + And Grief goes out, and Joy comes in, + And Care is but a feather; + And every lad his love can win, + For here is April weather. + + LIZETTE WOODWORTH REESE + + +DAFFODILS + + There flames the first gay daffodil + Where winter-long the snows have lain: + Who buried Love, all spent and still? + There flames the first gay daffodil. + Go, Love's alive on yonder hill, + And yours for asking, joy and pain, + There flames the first gay daffodil + Where winter-long the snows have lain! + + RUTH GUTHRIE HARDING + + +THE CROCUS FLAME + + The Easter sunrise flung a bar of gold + O'er the awakening wold. + What was thine answer, O thou brooding earth, + What token of re-birth, + Of tender vernal mirth, + Thou the long-prisoned in the bonds of cold? + + Under the kindling panoply which God + Spreads over tree and clod, + I looked far abroad. + Umber the sodden reaches seemed and seer + As when the dying year, + With rime-white sandals shod, + Faltered and fell upon its frozen bier. + Of some rathe quickening, some divine + Renascence not a sign! + + And yet, and yet, + With touch of viol-chord, with mellow fret, + The lyric South amid the bough-tops stirred, + And one lone bird + An unexpected jet + Of song projected through the morning blue, + As though some wondrous hidden thing it knew. + + And so I gathered heart, and cried again: + "O earth, make plain, + At this matutinal hour, + The triumph and the power + Of life eternal over death and pain, + Although it be but by some simple flower!" + + And then, with sudden light, + Was dowered my veiled sight, + And I beheld in a sequestered place + A slender crocus show its sun-bright face. + O miracle of Grace, + Earth's Easter answer came, + The revelation of transfiguring Might, + In that small crocus flame! + + CLINTON SCOLLARD + + +THE EARLY GODS + + It is the time of violets. + It is the very day + When in the shadow of the wood + Spring shall have her say, + Remembering how the early gods + Came up the violet way. + Are there not violets + And gods-- + To-day? + + WITTER BYNNER + + +A TULIP GARDEN + + Guarded within the old red wall's embrace, + Marshalled like soldiers in gay company, + The tulips stand arrayed. Here infantry + Wheels out into the sunlight. What bold grace + Sets off their tunics, white with crimson lace! + Here are platoons of gold-frocked cavalry, + With scarlet sabres tossing in the eye + Of purple batteries, every gun in place. + Forward they come, with flaunting colors spread, + With torches burning, stepping out in time + To some quick, unheard march. Our ears are dead, + We cannot catch the tune. In pantomime + Parades the army. With our utmost powers + We hear the wind stream through a bed of flowers. + + AMY LOWELL + + +TULIPS + + Brave little fellows in crimsons and yellows, + Coming while breezes of April are cold, + Winter can't freeze you, he flies when he sees you + Thrusting your spears through the redolent mold. + + Jolly Dutch flowers, rejoicing in showers, + Drink! ere the pageant of Spring passes by! + Hold your carousals to Robin's espousals, + Lifting rich cups for the wine of the sky! + + Dignified urbans in glossy silk turbans, + Burgherlike blossoms of gardens and squares, + Nodding so solemn by fountain and column, + What is the talk of your weighty affairs? + + Pollen and honey (for such is your money),-- + Gossip and freight of the chaffering bee,-- + Prospects of growing,--what colors are showing,-- + News of rare tulips from over the sea? + + Loitering near you, how often I hear you, + Just ere your petals at twilight are furled, + Laugh through the grasses while Evelyn passes, + "There goes the loveliest flower in the world!" + + ARTHUR GUITERMAN + + +A WHITE IRIS + + Tall and clothed in samite, + Chaste and pure, + In smooth armor,-- + Your head held high + In its helmet + Of silver: + Jean D'Arc riding + Among the sword blades! + + Has Spring for you + Wrought visions, + As it did for her + In a garden? + + PAULINE B. BARRINGTON + + +MAY IS BUILDING HER HOUSE + + May is building her house. With apple blooms + She is roofing over the glimmering rooms; + Of the oak and the beech hath she builded its beams, + And, spinning all day at her secret looms, + With arras of leaves each wind-swayed wall + She pictureth over, and peopleth it all + With echoes and dreams, + And singing of streams. + + May is building her house of petal and blade; + Of the roots of the oak is the flooring made, + With a carpet of mosses and lichen and clover, + Each small miracle over and over, + And tender, travelling green things strayed. + + Her windows the morning and evening star, + And her rustling doorways, ever ajar + With the coming and going + Of fair things blowing, + The thresholds of the four winds are. + + May is building her house. From the dust of things + She is making the songs and the flowers and the wings; + From October's tossed and trodden gold + She is making the young year out of the old; + Yea! out of winter's flying sleet + She is making all the summer sweet, + And the brown leaves spurned of November's feet + She is changing back again to spring's. + + RICHARD LE GALLIENNE + + +THE MAGNOLIA + + Deep in the wood, of scent and song the daughter, + Perfect and bright is the magnolia born; + White as a flake of foam upon still water, + White as soft fleece upon rough brambles torn. + + Hers is a cup a workman might have fashioned + Of Grecian marble in an age remote. + Hers is a beauty perfect and impassioned, + As when a woman bares her rounded throat. + + There is a tale of how the moon, her lover, + Holds her enchanted by some magic spell; + Something about a dove that broods above her, + Or dies within her breast--I cannot tell. + + I cannot say where I have heard the story, + Upon what poet's lips; but this I know: + Her heart is like a pearl's, or like the glory + Of moonbeams frozen on the spotless snow. + + JOSE SANTOS CHOCANO + (_Translated by John Pierrepont Rice_) + + +"GO DOWN TO KEW IN LILAC-TIME" + + Go down to Kew in lilac-time, in lilac-time, in lilac-time; + Go down to Kew in lilac-time (it isn't far from London!) + And you shall wander hand in hand with love in summer's wonderland; + Go down to Kew in lilac-time (it isn't far from London!). + + The cherry-trees are seas of bloom and soft perfume and sweet perfume, + The cherry-trees are seas of bloom (and oh, so near to London!) + And there they say, when dawn is high and all the world's a blaze of + sky + The cuckoo, though he's very shy, will sing a song for London. + + The Dorian nightingale is rare, and yet they say you'll hear him there + At Kew, at Kew in lilac-time (and oh, so near to London!) + The linnet and the throstle, too, and after dark the long halloo + And golden-eyed _tu-whit_, _tu-whoo_ of owls that ogle London. + + For Noah hardly knew a bird of any kind that isn't heard + At Kew, at Kew in lilac-time (and oh, so near to London!) + And when the rose begins to pout and all the chestnut spires are out + You'll hear the rest without a doubt, all chorussing for London:-- + + _Come down to Kew in lilac-time, in lilac-time, in lilac-time; + Come down to Kew in lilac-time (it isn't far from London!) + And you shall wander hand in hand with love in summer's wonderland; + Come down to Kew in lilac-time (it isn't far from London!)._ + + ALFRED NOYES + + +BEYOND + + I wonder if the tides of Spring + Will always bring me back again + Mute rapture at the simple thing + Of lilacs blowing in the rain. + + If so, my heart will ever be + Above all fear, for I shall know + There is a greater mystery + Beyond the time when lilacs blow. + + THOMAS S. JONES, JR. + + +JUNE + + I knew that you were coming, June, I knew that you were coming! + Among the alders by the stream I heard a partridge drumming; + I heard a partridge drumming, June, a welcome with his wings, + And felt a softness in the air half Summer's and half Spring's. + + I knew that you were nearing, June, I knew that you were nearing-- + I saw it in the bursting buds of roses in the clearing; + The roses in the clearing, June, were blushing pink and red, + For they had heard upon the hills the echo of your tread. + + I knew that you were coming, June, I knew that you were coming, + For ev'ry warbler in the wood a song of joy was humming. + I know that you are here, June, I know that you are here-- + The fairy month, the merry month, the laughter of the year! + + DOUGLAS MALLOCH + + +JUNE RAPTURE + + Green! What a world of green! My startled soul + Panting for beauty long denied, + Leaps in a passion of high gratitude + To meet the wild embraces of the wood; + Rushes and flings itself upon the whole + Mad miracle of green, with senses wide, + Clings to the glory, hugs and holds it fast, + As one who finds a long-lost love at last. + Billows of green that break upon the sight + In bounteous crescendos of delight, + Wind-hurried verdure hastening up the hills + To where the sun its highest rapture spills; + Cascades of color tumbling down the height + In golden gushes of delicious light-- + God! Can I bear the beauty of this day, + Or shall I be swept utterly away? + + Hush--here are deeps of green, where rapture stills, + Sheathing itself in veils of amber dusk; + Breathing a silence suffocating, sweet, + Wherein a million hidden pulses beat. + Look! How the very air takes fire and thrills + With hint of heaven pushing through her husk. + Ah, joy's not stopped! 'Tis only more intense, + Here where Creation's ardors all condense; + Here where I crush me to the radiant sod, + Close-folded to the very nerves of God. + See now--I hold my heart against this tree. + The life that thrills its trembling leaves thrills me. + There's not a pleasure pulsing through its veins + That does not sting me with ecstatic pains. + No twig or tracery, however fine, + Can bear a tale of joy exceeding mine. + + Praised be the gods that made my spirit mad; + Kept me aflame and raw to beauty's touch. + Lashed me and scourged me with the whip of fate; + Gave me so often agony for mate; + Tore from my heart the things that make men glad-- + Praised be the gods! If I at last, by such + Relentless means may know the sacred bliss, + The anguished rapture of an hour like this. + Smite me, O Life, and bruise me if thou must; + Mock me and starve me with thy bitter crust, + But keep me thus aquiver and awake, + Enamoured of my life for living's sake! + _This were the tragedy_--that I should pass, + Dull and indifferent through the glowing grass. + And this the reason I was born, I say-- + That I might know the passion of this day! + + ANGELA MORGAN + + +COLUMBINES + + Late were we sleeping + Deep in the mold, + Clasping and keeping + Yesterday's gold-- + Hoardings of sunshine, + Crimson and gold; + Dreaming of light till our dream became + Aureate bells and beakers of flame,-- + Splashed with the splendor of wine of flame. + Raindrop awoke us; + Zephyr bespoke us; + Chick-a-dee called us, + Bobolink called us,-- + Then we came. + + ARTHUR GUITERMAN + + +THE MORNING-GLORY + + Was it worth while to paint so fair + Thy every leaf--to vein with faultless art + Each petal, taking the boon light and air + Of summer so to heart? + + To bring thy beauty unto perfect flower, + Then, like a passing fragrance or a smile, + Vanish away, beyond recovery's power-- + Was it, frail bloom, worth while? + + Thy silence answers: "Life was mine! + And I, who pass without regret or grief, + Have cared the more to make my moment fine, + Because it was so brief. + + "In its first radiance I have seen + The sun!--why tarry then till comes the night? + I go my way, content that I have been + Part of the morning light!" + + FLORENCE EARLE COATES + + +THE BLOSSOMY BARROW + + Antonio Sarto ees buildin' a wall, + But maybe he nevva gon' feenish at all. + Eet sure wonta be + Teell flower an' tree + An' all kinda growin' theengs sleep een da Fall. + + You see, deesa 'Tonio always ees want' + To leeve on a farm, so he buy wan las' mont'. + I s'posa som' day eet be verra nice place, + But shape dat he find eet een sure ees "deesgrace"; + Eet's busta so bad he must feexin' eet all, + An' firs' theeng he starta for build ees da wall. + Mysal' I go outa for see heem wan day, + An' dere I am catcha heem sweatin' away; + He's liftin' beeg stones from all parts of hees land + An' takin' dem up to da wall een hees hand! + I say to heem: "Tony, why don'ta you gat + Som' leetla wheel-barrow for halp you weeth dat?" + "O! com' an' I show you w'at's matter," he said, + An' so we go look at hees tools een da shed. + Dere's fina beeg wheel-barrow dere on da floor, + But w'at do you s'pose? From een under da door, + Som' mornin'-glor' vines have creep eento da shed, + An' beautiful flower, all purpla an' red, + Smile out from da vina so pretty an' green + Dat tweest round da wheel an' da sides da machine. + I look at dees Tony an' say to heem: "Wal?" + An' Tony he look back at me an' say: "Hal! + I no can bust up soocha beautiful theeng; + I work weeth my han's eef eet tak' me teell spreeng!" + + Antonio Sarto ees buildin' a wall, + But maybe he nevva gon' feenish at all. + Eet sure wonta be + Teell flower an' tree + An' all kinda growin' theengs sleep een da Fall. + + T. A. DALY + + +LARKSPUR + + Blue morning and the beloved, + The hill-garden and I ... + + Blue morning and the beloved, + Leaning, laughing and plucking, + Plucking wet roses ... + + (She among the roses, + I among the larkspur, + Bob-white, warbler, meadowlark, bobolink, + Song, sun, + And still morning air.) + + I snipped off a larkspur blossom of china-blue + And held it, + A blossom against the sky ... + + And heaven opened out + In one small flower-face ... + + And the beloved, + Plucking roses, plucking roses, old-fashioned roses, + Lifted her face + With eyes of china-blue. + + (She among the roses, + I among the larkspur, + Bee-hum, brown-mole, downy chick, humming-bird: + Light, dew, + And laughter of my love.) + + JAMES OPPENHEIM + + +THE JULY GARDEN + + It's July in my garden; and steel-blue are the globe thistles + And French grey the willows that bow to every breeze; + And deep in every currant bush a robber blackbird whistles + "I'm picking, I'm picking, I'm picking these!" + + So off I go to rout them, and find instead I'm gazing + At clusters of delphiniums--the seed was small and brown, + But these are spurs that fell from heaven and caught the most amazing + Colours of the welkin's own as they came hustling down. + + And then some roses catch my eye, or may be some Sweet Williams + Or pink and white and purple peals of Canterbury bells + Or pencilled Violas that peep between the three-leaved trilliums + Or red-hot pokers all aglow or poppies that cast spells-- + + And while I stare at each in turn I quite forget or pardon + The blackbirds--and the blackguards--that keep robbing me of pie; + For what do such things matter when I have so fair a garden + And what is half so lovely as my garden in July? + + ROBERT ERNEST VERNEDE + + +"MID-SUMMER BLOOMS WITHIN OUR QUIET GARDEN-WAYS" + + Mid-summer blooms within our quiet garden-ways; + A golden peacock down the dusky alley strays; + Gay flower petals strew + --Pearl, emerald and blue-- + The curving slopes of fragrant summer grass; + The pools are clear as glass + Between the white cups of the lily-flowers; + The currants are like jewelled fairy-bowers; + A dazzling insect worries the heart of a rose, + Where a delicate fern a filmy shadow throws, + And airy as bubbles the thousands of bees + Over the young grape-clusters swarm as they please. + + The air is pearly, iridescent, pure; + These profound and radiant noons mature, + Unfolding even as odorous roses of clear light; + Familiar roads to distances invite + Like slow and graceful gestures, one by one + Bound for the pearly-hued horizon and the sun. + + Surely the summer clothes, with all her arts, + No other garden with such grace and power; + And 'tis the poignant joy close-folded in our hearts + That cries its life aloud from every flaming flower. + + EMILE VERHAEREN + + +POPPIES + + O perfect flowers of sweet midsummer days, + The season's emblems ye, + As nodding lazily + Ye kiss to sleep each breeze that near you strays, + And soothe the tired gazer's sense + With lulling surges of your softest somnolence. + + Like fairy lamps ye light the garden bed + With tender ruby glow. + Not any flowers that blow + Can match the glory of your gleaming red; + Such sunny-warm and dreamy hue + Before ye lit your fires no garden ever knew. + + Bright are the blossoms of the scarlet sage, + And bright the velvet vest + On the nasturtium's breast; + Bright are the tulips when they reddest rage, + And bright the coreopsis' eye;-- + But none of all can with your brilliant beauty vie. + + O soft and slumberous flowers, we love you well; + Your glorious crimson tide + The mossy walk beside + Holds all the garden in its drowsy spell; + And walking there we gladly bless + Your queenly grace and all your languorous loveliness. + + JOHN RUSSELL HAYES + + +THE GARDEN IN AUGUST + + From corn-crib by the level pasture-lands + To knoll where spruce and boulders hide the road + I know it like a book, and when my heart + Is waste and dry and hard and choked with weeds, + I come here till it gently blooms again. + For gardens yield rich fruits that will outlast + The autumn and the winter of the soul, + Richest to him who toils with loving hands. + 'Tis delving thus we learn life's secrets told + But to those favored few who dig for them. + The Garden is an intimate and keeps + In touch with us, yet hath its own high moods, + And doth impose them on the mind of man + To shame his pettiness. So do I love + Its shimmering August mood keyed to the sun, + A harlequin of color, birds and bloom. + Nasturtiums, zinnias, balsams, salvias blaze + By vivid dahlias; tiger-lilies burn + In scarlet shadow of Jerusalem-cross; + Beyond the queen-hydrangeas splendid rule + Barbaric marigolds; chrysanthemums + Outshine gladioli, and sunflowers flaunt + Their crests of gold beneath the giant gourds. + Within the arbor, script forgot, I muse, + While gorgeous hollyhocks sway to and fro + To mark the silences, and butterflies + Flit in and out like some bright memory, + And blinding poppies kindle slow watch-fires + Before the golden altar of the sun. + + A spell lies on the Garden. Summer sits + With finger on her lips as if she heard + The steps of Autumn echo on the hill. + A hush lies on the Garden. Summer dreams + Of timid crocus thrust through drifted snow. + + GERTRUDE HUNTINGTON MCGIFFERT + + +SUN, CARDINAL, AND CORN FLOWERS + + Whence gets Earth her gold for thee, + O Sunflower? + Her woven, yellow locks so fine + Must go to make that gold of thine. + + And whence thy red beside the stream, + O Cardinal-flower? + She pricks some vein lies near her heart + That thy rich, ruddy hue may start. + + And whence thy blue amid the corn, + O Corn-flower? + Her deep-blue eyes gleam out in glee, + The glories of her work to see. + + HANNAH PARKER KIMBALL + + +SUNFLOWERS + + My tall sunflowers love the sun, + Love the burning August noons + When the locust tunes its viol, + And the cricket croons. + + When the purple night draws on, + With its planets hung on high, + And the attared winds of slumber + Wander down the sky, + + Still my sunflowers love the sun, + Keep their ward and watch and wait + Till the rosy key of morning + Opes the eastern gate. + + Then, when they have deeply quaffed + From the brimming cups of dew, + You can hear their golden laughter + All the garden through. + + CLINTON SCOLLARD + + +THE END OF SUMMER + + When poppies in the garden bleed, + And coreopsis goes to seed, + And pansies, blossoming past their prime, + Grow small and smaller all the time, + When on the mown field, shrunk and dry, + Brown dock and purple thistle lie, + And smoke from forest fires at noon + Can make the sun appear the moon, + When apple seeds, all white before, + Begin to darken in the core, + I know that summer, scarcely here, + Is gone until another year. + + EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY + + +A LATE WALK + + When I go up through the mowing field, + The headless aftermath, + Smooth-laid like thatch with the heavy dew, + Half closes the garden path. + + And when I come to the garden ground, + The whir of sober birds + Up from the tangle of the withered weeds + Is sadder than any words. + + A tree beside the wall stands bare, + But a leaf that lingered brown, + Disturbed, I doubt not, by my thought, + Comes softly rustling down. + + I end not far from my going forth + By picking the faded blue + Of the last remaining aster flower + To carry again to you. + + ROBERT FROST + + +COLOR NOTES + + The brown of fallen leaves, + The duller brown + Of withered moss + Stubble and bared sheaves, + And pale light filtering down + The fields across. + + The gray of slender trees, + The softer gray + Of melting skies. + What sobering ecstasies + One drinks on such a day + With chastened eyes! + + CHARLES WHARTON STORK + + +THE GOLDEN BOWL + + I stand upon the broad and rounded summit + Of a high hill + In the full golden flood of an October day + Nearing to twilight. + Below lie bouquets of woods, flat fields, + White strings of roads winding like fairy tales into the distance, + All steeped in sapphire mist like the blue bloom of grapes. + Nearby a scarlet creeper trails a fence, + Nearer a hawthorn tree + Drops its wee crimson apples into the lush green grass. + I stand with head thrown back, + Seeing and breathing deep, + My arms stretched out, in my two hands + I hold a golden bowl. + Luscious fruits fulfil the yellow lustre of its hollow sphere, + Fruits like great gems, + A pear of russet topaz, a ruby peach, + A cluster of grapes-- + Amethysts from the dewy cave of night-- + A sapphire plum, a garnet apple, emerald nectarine, + And on them lies a rose. + + Oh, empty golden bowl I call my soul, + Filled now with the precious fruits of life and time, + Topped with the rosy spray of grace, + A rose, + As though dropped to me from the sky above, + A crowning thing, + Love, + I lift and hold you out, + An offering, + And close my eyes. + + MARY MCMILLAN + + +THE AUTUMN ROSE + + A Ghostly visitant, pale Autumn Rose, + Haunting my garden that you once loved well: + Ah, how you queened it ere the sweet June's close, + And blushed anew to hear the zephyrs tell + Your loveliness was fairer than a dream! + But now your pride of beauty is all gone, + And like some poor sad penitent you seem, + Whose drooping head but hides a visage wan + And wasted by the coldness of the world. + Upon your faint sweet breath is borne a sigh, + Within your petals lies a tear impearled; + I hear you to my garden say good-bye. + + A sudden wind--the pale rose-petals blow + Hither and yon--or are they flakes of snow? + + ANTOINETTE DE COURSEY PATTERSON + + +INDIAN SUMMER + + Lyric night of the lingering Indian Summer, + Shadowy fields that are scentless but full of singing, + Never a bird, but the passionless chant of insects, + Ceaseless, insistent. + + The grasshopper's horn, and far off, high in the maples + The wheel of a locust leisurely grinding the silence, + Under the moon waning and worn and broken, + Tired with summer. + + Let me remember you, voices of little insects, + Weeds in the moonlight, fields that are tangled with asters, + Let me remember you, soon will the winter be on us, + Snow-hushed and heartless. + + Over my soul murmur your mute benediction, + While I gaze, oh fields that rest after harvest, + As those who part look long in the eyes they lean to, + Lest they forget them. + + SARA TEASDALE + + +"FROST TO-NIGHT" + + Apple-green west and an orange bar, + And the crystal eye of a lone, one star ... + And, "Child, take the shears and cut what you will. + Frost to-night--so clear and dead-still." + + Then, I sally forth, half sad, half proud, + And I come to the velvet, imperial crowd, + The wine-red, the gold, the crimson, the pied,-- + The dahlias that reign by the garden-side. + + The dahlias I might not touch till to-night! + A gleam of the shears in the fading light, + And I gathered them all,--the splendid throng, + And in one great sheaf I bore them along. + + In my garden of Life with its all-late flowers + I heed a Voice in the shrinking hours: + "Frost to-night--so clear and dead-still ..." + Half sad, half proud, my arms I fill. + + EDITH M. THOMAS + + +NOVEMBER NIGHT + + Listen ... + With faint dry sound, + Like steps of passing ghosts, + The leaves, frost-crisp'd, break from the trees + And fall. + + ADELAIDE CRAPSEY + + +THE SNOW-GARDENS + + Like an empty stage + The gardens are empty and cold; + The marble terraces rise + Like vases that hold no flowers; + The lake is frozen, the fountain still; + The marble walls and the seats + Are useless and beautiful. + Ah, here + Where the wind and the dusk and the snow are + All is silent and white and sad! + Why do I think of you? + Why does your name remorselessly + Strike through my heart? + Why does my soul awaken and shudder? + Why do I seem to hear + Cries as lovely as music? + Surely you never came + Into these pale snow-gardens; + Surely you never stood + Here in the twilight with me; + Yet here I have lingered and dreamed + Of a face as subtle as music, + Of golden hair, and of eyes + Like a child's ... + I have felt on my brow + Your finger-tips, plaintive as music ... + O Wonder of all wonders, O Love-- + Wrought of sweet sounds and of dreaming!-- + Why do you not emerge + From the lilac pale petals of dusk, + And come to me here in the gardens + Where the wind and the snow are? + + Beauty and Peace are here-- + And unceasing music-- + And a loneliness chill and wistful, + Like the feeling of death. + + Like a crystal lily a star + Leans from its leaves of silver + And gleams in the sky; + And golden and faint in the shadows + You wait indistinctly,-- + Like a phantom lamp that appears + In the mirror of distance that hovers + By the window at twilight-- + You have come--and we stand together, + With questioning eyes-- + Dreaming and cold and ghostly + In an empty garden that seems + Like an empty stage. + + ZOE AKINS + + +A SONG FOR WINTER + + Speak not of snow and cold and rime + Now they prevail. + Would you have joy in winter-time, + Think of the pale + New green that comes, of blossoming lilacs think, + Larkspur, and borders of the fringed pink. + And sing, if winter grants you heart to sing, + Of summer and of spring. + + Would you secure some happiness + In frosty hours, + Trust to the eye external less + Than to the powers + Of inward sight that even now may show + Opaline seas, blue hilltops, and the glow + Of daybreak on the glades where thrushes sing + In summer and in spring. + + Gaze not on fettered lake and brook + And sullen skies, + But in your happy memory look + Where beauty lies + As once it was, as it shall be again + When sunshine floods the fields of blowing grain, + And sing, as must who would in winter sing, + Of summer and of spring. + + MRS. SCHUYLER VAN RENSSELAER + + + + + WINGS AND SONG + + +"I MEANT TO DO MY WORK TO-DAY" + + _I meant to do my work to-day-- + But a brown bird sang in the apple-tree + And a butterfly flitted across the field, + And all the leaves were calling me._ + + _And the wind went sighing over the land, + Tossing the grasses to and fro, + And a rainbow held out its shining hand-- + So what could I do but laugh and go?_ + + RICHARD LE GALLIENNE + + +THE HUMMINGBIRD + + Through tree-top and clover a-whirr and away! + Hi! little rover, stop and stay. + + Merry, absurd, excited wag-- + Lilliput-bird in Brobdingnag! + + Wild and free as the wild thrush, and warier-- + Was ever a bee merrier, airier? + + Wings folded so, a second or two-- + Was ever a crow more solemn than you? + + A-whirr again over the garden, away! + Who calls, little rover, Bird or fay? + + Agleam and aglow, incarnate bliss! + What do you know that we humans miss? + + In the lily's chalice, what rune, what spell, + In the rose's palace, what do they tell + + (When the door you bob in, airily) + That they hush from the robin, hide from the bee?-- + + Fearing the crew of chatter and song, + And tell to you of the chantless tongue? + + Chantless! Ah, yes. Is that the sting + Masked in gay dress and whirring wing? + + Faith! But a wing of such airy stuff! + What need to sing? Here's music enough. + + A-whirr, and over tree-top, and through! + Hi! little rover, fair travel to you. + + Sweet, absurd, excited wag-- + Lilliput-bird in Brobdingnag! + + HERMANN HAGEDORN + + +SPRING SONG + + Softly at dawn a whisper stole + Down from the Green House on the Hill, + Enchanting many a ghostly bole + And wood song with the ancient thrill. + + Gossiping on the countryside, + Spring and the wandering breezes say + God has thrown heaven open wide + And let the thrushes out to-day. + + WILLIAM GRIFFITH + + +NIGHTINGALES + + At sunset my brown nightingales + Hidden and hushed all day, + Ring vespers, while the color pales + And fades to twilight gray: + The little mellow bells they ring, + The little flutes they play, + Are soft as though for practising + The things they want to say. + It's when the dark has floated down + To hide and guard and fold, + I know their throats that look so brown, + Are really made of gold. + No music I have ever heard + Can call as sweet as they! + I wonder if it _is_ a bird + That sings within the hidden tree, + Or some shy angel calling me + To follow far away? + + GRACE HAZARD CONKLING + + +THE GOLDFINCH + + Down from the sky on a sudden he drops + Into the mullein and juniper tops, + Flushed from his bath in the midsummer shine + Flooding the meadowland, drunk with the wine + Spilled from the urns of the blue, like a bold + Sky-buccaneer in his sable and gold. + + Lightly he sways on the pendulous stem, + Vividly restless, a fluttering gem, + Then with a flash of bewildering wings + Dazzles away up and down, and he sings + Clear as a bell at each dip as he flies + Bounding along on the wave of the skies. + + Sunlight and laughter, a winged desire, + Motion and melody married to fire, + Lighter than thistle-tuft borne on the wind, + Frailer than violets, how shall we find + Words that will match him, discover a name + Meet for this marvel, this lyrical flame? + + How shall we fashion a rhythm to wing with him, + Find us a wonderful music to sing with him + Fine as his rapture is, free as the rollicking + Song that the harlequin drops in his frolicking + Dance through the summer sky, singing so merrily + High in the burning blue, winging so airily? + + ODELL SHEPARD + + +KINFOLK + + O, we are Kinfolk, she and I,-- + The little mother-bird all brown, + Who broods above her nest on high, + And with her soft, bright eyes looks down + To read the secret of my heart,-- + We two from all the world apart! + + She dreams there in her swaying nest; + I dream here 'neath my sheltering vine. + The same love stirs her feathered breast + That makes my heart-throb seem divine. + We both dream 'neath the same kind sky,-- + The small brown mother-bird, and I. + + KATE WHITING PATCH + + +A MOCKING-BIRD + + An arrow, feathery, alive, + He darts and sings,-- + Then with a sudden skimming dive + Of striped wings + He finds a pine and, debonair, + Makes with his mate + All birds that ever rested there + Articulate. + + The whisper of a multitude + Of happy wings + Is round him, a returning brood, + Each time he sings. + Though heaven be not for them or him + Yet he is wise, + And daily tiptoes on the rim + Of paradise. + + WITTER BYNNER + + +THE CARDINAL-BIRD + + Where snow-drifts are deepest he frolics along, + A flicker of crimson, a chirrup of song, + My Cardinal-Bird of the frost-powdered wing, + Composing new lyrics to whistle in Spring. + + A plump little prelate, the park is his church; + The pulpit he loves is a cliff-sheltered birch; + And there, in his rubicund livery dressed, + Arranging his feathers and ruffling his crest, + + He preaches, with most unconventional glee, + A sermon addressed to the squirrels and me, + Commending the wisdom of those that display + The brightest of colors when heavens are gray. + + ARTHUR GUITERMAN + + +YELLOW WARBLERS + + The first faint dawn was flushing up the skies, + When, dreamland still bewildering mine eyes, + I looked out to the oak that, winter-long,-- + A winter wild with war and woe and wrong,-- + Beyond my casement had been void of song. + + And lo! with golden buds the twigs were set, + Live buds that warbled like a rivulet + Beneath a veil of willows. Then I knew + Those tiny voices, clear as drops of dew, + Those flying daffodils that fleck the blue, + + Those sparkling visitants from myrtle isles-- + Wee pilgrims of the sun, that measured miles + Innumerable over land and sea + With wings of shining inches. Flakes of glee, + They filled that dark old oak with jubilee, + + Foretelling in delicious roundelays + Their dainty courtships on the dipping sprays, + How they should fashion nests, mate helping mate, + Of milkweed flax and fern-down delicate, + To keep sky-tinted eggs inviolate. + + Listening to those blithe notes, I slipped once more + From lyric dawn through dreamland's open door, + And there was God, Eternal Life that sings + Eternal joy, brooding all mortal things, + A nest of stars, beneath untroubled wings. + + KATHARINE LEE BATES + + +WITCHERY + + Out of the purple drifts, + From the shadow sea of night, + On tides of musk a moth uplifts + Its weary wings of white. + + Is it a dream or ghost + Of a dream that comes to me, + Here in the twilight on the coast, + Blue cinctured by the sea? + + Fashioned of foam and froth-- + And the dream is ended soon, + And, lo, whence came the moon-white moth + Comes now the moth-white moon! + + FRANK DEMPSTER SHERMAN + + +THE SPRING BEAUTIES + + The Puritan Spring Beauties stood freshly clad for church; + A Thrush, white-breasted, o'er them sat singing on his perch. + "Happy be! for fair are ye!" the gentle singer told them, + But presently a buff-coat Bee came booming up to scold them. + "Vanity, oh, vanity! + Young maids, beware of vanity!" + Grumbled out the buff-coat Bee, + Half parson-like, half soldierly. + + The sweet-faced maidens trembled, with pretty, pinky blushes, + Convinced that it was wicked to listen to the Thrushes; + And when, that shady afternoon, I chanced that way to pass, + They hung their little bonnets down and looked into the grass. + All because the buff-coat Bee + Lectured them so solemnly:-- + "Vanity, oh, vanity! + Young maids, beware of vanity!" + + HELEN GRAY CONE + + +THE MOCKING-BIRD + + He didn't know much music + When first he come along; + An' all the birds went wonderin' + Why he didn't sing a song. + + They primped their feathers in the sun, + An' sung their sweetest notes; + An' music jest come on the run + From all their purty throats! + + But still that bird was silent + In summer time an' fall; + He jest set still and listened, + An' he wouldn't sing at all! + + But one night when them songsters + Was tired out an' still, + An' the wind sighed down the valley + An' went creepin' up the hill; + + When the stars was all a-tremble + In the dreamin' fields o' blue, + An' the daisy in the darkness-- + Felt the fallin' o' the dew,-- + + There come a sound o' melody + No mortal ever heard, + An' all the birds seemed singin' + From the throat o' one sweet bird! + + Then the other birds went Mayin' + In a land too fur to call; + For there warn't no use in stayin' + When one bird could sing for all! + + FRANK L. STANTON + + +THE MESSENGER + + Bee! tell me whence do you come? + Ten fields away, twenty perhaps, + Have heard your hum. + + If you are from the north, you may + Have passed my mother's roof of straw + Upon your way. + + If you came from the south you should + Have seen another cottage just + Inside the wood. + + And should you go back that way, please + Carry a message to the house + Among the trees. + + Say--I will wait her at the rock + Beside the stream, this very night + At eight o'clock. + + And ask your queen when you get home + To send my queen the present of + A honey-comb. + + JAMES STEPHENS + + +FIREFLIES + + Fireflies, Fireflies, little glinting creatures, + Making night lovely with a rain of gold, + Born of the moonbeams, children all unearthly, + Ah how you vanish from a look too bold! + + Fireflies, Fireflies, lovely as our dreams are, + Sewn with such fancies from the years gone by, + Wayward, elusive, as the playful zephyrs, + Hiding mid grasses, gleaming in the sky. + + Fireflies, Fireflies, like unto the silent + Brown nuns who gather for the dead to pray, + As theirs your mission; holy, too, your tapers, + Souls of dead flowers lighting on their way. + + ANTOINETTE DE COURSEY PATTERSON + + +JULY MIDNIGHT + + Fireflies flicker in the tops of trees, + Flicker in the lower branches, + Skim along the ground. + Over the moon-white lilies + Is a flashing and ceasing of small, lemon-green stars. + As you lean against me, + Moon-white, + The air all about you + Is slit, and pricked, and pointed with sparkles of lemon-green flame + Starting out of a background of great vague trees. + + AMY LOWELL + + +THE CRICKET IN THE PATH + + She passed through the shadowy garden, so tall and so white, + Her eyes on the stars and her face like an angel's upturned, + And it seemed to my thought that the dusk round her head with the + light + Of an aureole burned. + + But where she had trodden unseeing, I found on the path + A cricket, so frail that her light foot had maimed it, yet strong + To valiantly pipe, tiny hero, a faint aftermath + Of its yesterday song. + + And I whispered, "Alas, Little Brother, why must it befall + That the passing of angels but cripples and leaves us to die? + Poor imp of the greensward, God trumpets me clear in thy call; + Thou art braver than I. + + "The Bright Ones of Heaven have trodden me down as they passed; + I crawl in their footsteps a trampled and impotent thing. + I know not the reason, nor question henceforth. To the last, + While I live, I will sing." + + AMELIA JOSEPHINE BURR + + +REST AT NOON + + Now with a re-created mind + Back to the world my way I find; + + Fed by the hills one little hour, + By meadow-slope and beechen-bower, + + Cedar serene, benignant larch, + Hoar mountains and the azure arch + + Where dazzling vapors make vast sport + In God's profound and spacious court. + + The universe played with me. Earth + Harped to high heaven her sweetest mirth; + + The clouds built castles for my pleasure, + And airy legions without measure + + Flung, spindrift-wise, across the sky + To thrill my heart once and to die. + + I have held converse with large things; + For cherubim with cooling wings + + Brushed me, and gay stars, hid from view, + Called through the arras of the blue + + And clapped their hands: "These veils uproll! + And see the comrades of your soul!" + + The very flowers that ringed my bed + Their little "God-be-with-you" said, + + And every insect, bird and bee + Brought cool cups from eternity. + + HERMANN HAGEDORN + + +ORDER + + It is half-past eight on the blossomy bush: + The petals are spread for a sunning; + The little gold fly is scrubbing his face; + The spider is nervously running + To fasten a thread; the night-going moth + Is folding his velvet perfection; + And presently over the clover will come + The bee on a tour of inspection. + + PAUL SCOTT MOWRER + + +THE NIGHT-MOTH + + My night-moth, my white moth, out of the fragrant dark + Blowing in and growing like a dim star-spark, + So swift in the shifting of your elfin wings, + So slight in your lighting, as a flower that clings, + As a boat to ride the dew, with sheer up-bearing sails, + Pulsing and breathing, rocked with delicate gales,-- + You gleam as a dream, by my window's light, + My white moth, my bright moth, my wandering wraith of night. + + From the velvet screening of a great gray cloud + The moon floats swiftly, white and open-browed, + Flooding cloud and water with her shining trail, + Till the night shrinks, sighing, behind the radiant veil; + The night, with her shy soul, to the deep wood slips-- + Her shy soul, her high soul, shrine of all the stars; + And you fly, like the sigh from her tender lips, + Athwart the wavering shadows, beating the silver bars; + You fleet in the meeting of the dark and bright, + My light moth, my white moth, spark from the soul of night. + + MARION COUTHOUY SMITH + + +THE BUTTERFLY + + O winged brother on the harebell, stay-- + Was God's hand very pitiful, the hand + That wrought thy beauty at a dream's demand? + _Yes, knowing I love so well the flowery way, + He did not fling me to the world astray-- + He did not drop me to the weary sand, + But bore me gently to a leafy land: + Tinting my wings, He gave me to the day._ + + Oh, chide no more my doubting, my despair! + I will go back now to the world of men. + Farewell, I leave thee to the world of air, + Yet thou hast girded up my heart again; + For He that framed the impenetrable plan, + And keeps His word with thee, will keep with man. + + EDWIN MARKHAM + + +THE SECRET + + O, little bird, you sing + As if all months were June; + Pray tell me ere you go + The secret of your tune? + + "I have no hidden word + To tell, nor mystic art; + I only know I sing + The song within my heart!" + + ARTHUR WALLACE PEACH + + + + + THE GARDENS OF YESTERDAY + + +THE GARDEN + + _Old gardens have a language of their own, + And mine sweet speech to linger in the heart. + A goodly place it is and primly spaced, + With straight box-bordered paths and squares of bloom. + Bay-trees by rows of antique urns tell tales + Of one who loved the gardens Dante loved. + Magnolias edge the placid lily-pool + And flank the sagging seat, whence vista leads + To blaze of rhododendrons banked in green. + Azaleas by the scarlet quince flame up + Against the lustrous grape-vines trellised high + To pigeon-cote and old brick wall where hide + First snowdrops and the bravest violets. + A place of solitudes whose silences + Enfold the heart as an unquiet bird._ + + GERTRUDE HUNTINGTON MCGIFFERT + + +OLD HOMES + + Old homes among the hills! I love their gardens; + Their old rock fences, that our day inherits; + Their doors, round which the great trees stand like wardens; + Their paths, down which the shadows march like spirits; + Broad doors and paths that reach bird-haunted gardens. + + I see them gray among their ancient acres, + Severe of front, their gables lichen-sprinkled,-- + Like gentle-hearted, solitary Quakers, + Grave and religious, with kind faces wrinkled,-- + Serene among their memory-hallowed acres. + + Their gardens, banked with roses and with lilies-- + Those sweet aristocrats of all the flowers-- + Where Springtime mints her gold in daffodillies, + And Autumn coins her marigolds in showers, + And all the hours are toilless as the lilies. + + I love their orchards where the gay woodpecker + Flits, flashing o'er you, like a winged jewel; + Their woods, whose floors of moss the squirrels checker + With half-hulled nuts; and where, in cool renewal, + The wild brooks laugh, and raps the red woodpecker. + + Old homes! Old hearts! Upon my soul forever + Their peace and gladness lie like tears and laughter; + Like love they touch me, through the years that sever, + With simple faith; like friendship, draw me after + The dreamy patience that is theirs forever. + + MADISON CAWEIN + + +A PURITAN LADY'S GARDEN + + This fairy pleasance in the brake-- + This maze run wild of flower and vine-- + Our fathers planted for the sake + Of eyes that longed for English gardens + Amid the virgin wastes of pine. + + Here, by the broken, moldering wall, + Where still the tiger-lilies ride, + Once grew the crown imperial, + The tall blue larkspur, white Queen Margaret, + Prince's-feather, and mourning bride. + + Beyond their pale, a humbler throng, + Grew Bouncing Bet and columbine; + The mountain fringe ran all along + The thick-set hedge of cinnamon roses, + And overhung the eglantine. + + And Sunday flowers were here as well-- + Adam-and-Eve within their hood, + The stately Canterbury bell, + And, oft in churches breathing fragrance, + The sweet and pungent southernwood. + + When ships for England cleared the bay, + If long beside these reefs of foam + She stood, and watched them sail away, + It was her garden first enticed her + To turn, and call this country "home." + + SARAH N. CLEGHORN + + +THE OLD-FASHIONED GARDEN + + Among the meadows of the countryside, + From city noise and tumult far away, + Where clover-blossoms spread their fragrance wide + And birds are warbling all the sunny day, + There is a spot which lovingly I prize, + For there a fair and sweet old-fashioned country garden lies. + + The gray old mansion down beside the lane + Stands knee-deep in the fields that lie around + And scent the air with hay and ripening grain. + Behind the manse box-hedges mark the bound + And close the garden in, or nearly close, + For on beyond the hollyhocks an olden orchard grows. + + So bright and lovely is the dear old place, + It seems as though the country's very heart + Were centered here, and that its antique grace + Must ever hold it from the world apart. + Immured it lies among the meadows deep, + Its flowery stillness beautiful and calm as softest sleep. + + The morning-glories ripple o'er the hedge + And fleck its greenness with their tinted foam; + Sweet wilding things, up to the garden's edge + They love to wander from their meadow home, + To take what little pleasure here they may + Ere all their silken trumpets close before the warm midday. + + The larkspur lifts on high its azure spires, + And up the arbor's lattices are rolled + The quaint nasturtium's many-colored fires; + The tall carnation's breast of faded gold + Is striped with many a faintly-flushing streak, + Pale as the tender tints that blush upon a baby's cheek. + + The old sweet-rocket sheds its fine perfumes, + With golden stars the coreopsis flames, + And here are scores of sweet old-fashioned blooms, + Dear for the very fragrance of their names,-- + Poppies and gilly flowers and four-o'clocks, + Cowslips and candytuft and heliotrope and hollyhocks, + + Harebells and peonies and dragon-head, + Petunias, scarlet sage and bergamot, + Verbenas, ragged-robins, soft gold-thread, + The bright primrose and pale forget-me-not, + Wall-flowers and crocuses and columbines, + Narcissus, asters, hyacinths, and honeysuckle vines. + + * * * * * + + A sweet seclusion this of sun and shade, + A calm asylum from the busy world, + Where greed and restless care do ne'er invade, + Nor news of 'change and mart each morning hurled + Round half the globe; no noise of party feud + Disturbs this peaceful spot nor mars its perfect quietude. + + But summer after summer comes and goes + And leaves the garden ever fresh and fair; + May brings the tulip, golden June the rose, + And August winds shake down the mellow pear. + Man blooms and blossoms, fades and disappears,-- + But scarce a tribute pays the garden to the passing years. + + * * * * * + + Sweet is the odor of the warm, soft rain + In violet-days when spring opes her green heart; + And sweet the apple trees along the lane + Whose lovely blossoms all too soon depart; + And sweet the brimming dew that overfills + The golden chalices of all the trembling daffodils. + + But sweeter far, in this old garden-close + To loiter 'mid the lovely old-time flowers, + To breathe the scent of lavender and rose, + And with old poets pass the peaceful hours. + Old gardens and old poets,--happy he + Whose quiet summer days are spent in such sweet company! + + JOHN RUSSELL HAYES + + +A COLONIAL GARDEN + + Down this pathway, through the shade, + Lightly tripped the dainty maid, + In her eyes the smile of June, + On her lips some old sweet tune. + Through yon ragged rows of box, + By that awkward clump of phlox, + To her favorite pansy bed + Like a ray of light, she sped. + Satin slippers trim and neat + Gleamed upon her slender feet; + Round her ankles, deftly tied, + Ribbons crossed from side to side, + Here her pinks, old fashioned, fair, + Breathed their fragrance on the air; + There her fluttering azure gown + Shook the poppy's petals down. + Here a rose, with fond caress, + Stooped to touch a truant tress + From her fillet struggling free, + Scorning its captivity. + There a bed of rue was set + With an edge of mignonette, + And the spicy bergamot + Meshed the frail forget-me-not. + Honeysuckles, hollyhocks, + Bachelor's buttons, four-o'clocks, + Marigolds and blue-eyed grass + Curtsied when the maid did pass. + Now the braggart weeds have spread + Through the paths she loved to tread, + And the creeping moss has grown + O'er yon shattered dial-stone. + Still beside the ruined walks + Some old flowers, on sturdy stalks, + Dream of her whose happy eyes + Roam the fields of paradise. + + JAMES B. KENYON + + +IN MY MOTHER'S GARDEN + + There were many flowers in my mother's garden, + Sword-leaved gladiolas, taller far than I, + Sticky-leaved petunias, pink and purple flaring, + Velvet-painted pansies smiling at the sky; + + Scentless portulacas crowded down the borders, + White and scarlet-petalled, rose and satin-gold, + Clustered sweet alyssum, lacy-white and scented, + Sprays of gray-green lavender to keep 'til you were old. + + In my mother's garden were green-leaved hiding-places, + Nooks between the lilacs--oh, a pleasant place to play! + Still my heart can hide there, still my eyes can dream it, + Though the long years lie between and I am far away; + + When the world is hard now, when the city's clanging + Tires my eyes and tires my heart and dust lies everywhere, + I can dream the peace still of the soft wind's blowing, + I can be a child still and hide my heart from care. + + Lord, if still that garden blossoms in the sunlight, + Grant that children laugh there now among its green and gold-- + Grant that little hearts still hide its memoried sweetness, + Locking one bright dream away for light when they are old! + + MARGARET WIDDEMER + + +TO THE SWEETWILLIAM + + I search the poet's honied lines, + And not in vain, for columbines; + And not in vain for other flowers + That sanctify the many bowers + Unsanctified by human souls. + See where the larkspur lifts among + The thousand blossoms finely sung, + Still blossoming in the fragrant scrolls! + Charity, eglantine, and rue + And love-in-a-mist are all in view, + With coloured cousins; but where are you, + Sweetwilliam? + + The lily and the rose have books + Devoted to their lovely looks, + And wit has fallen in vital showers + Through England's most miraculous hours + To keep them fresh a thousand years. + The immortal library can show + The violet's well-thumbed folio + Stained tenderly by girls in tears. + The shelf where Genius stands in view + Has brier and daffodil and rue + And love-lies-bleeding; but not you, + Sweetwilliam. + + Thus, if I seek the classic line + For marybuds, 'tis, Shakespeare, thine! + And ever is the primrose born + 'Neath Goldsmith's overhanging thorn. + In Herrick's breastknot I can see + The apple-blossom, fresh and fair + As when he plucked and put it there, + Heedless of Time's anthology. + So flower by flower comes into view + Kept fadeless by the Olympian dew + For startled eyes; and yet not you, + Sweetwilliam. + + * * * * * + + Though gods of song have let you be, + Bloom in my little book for me. + Unwont to stoop or lean, you show + An undefeated heart, and grow + As pluckily as cedars. Heat + And cold, and winds that make + Tumbledown sallies, cannot shake + Your resolution to be sweet. + Then take this song, be it born to die + Ere yet the unwedded butterfly + Has glimpsed a darling in the sky, + Sweetwilliam! + + NORMAN GALE + + +ROSE-GERANIUM + + A pungent spray of rose-geranium-- + A breath of the old life. + + It brings up the little five-room cottage where I was born, + And where I grew through a smiling childhood. + The white-bearded grandfather sits in his mended rocking-chair, + His eyes far off, crooning "The Sweet By and By," + Marked with the tapping of his toe upon the weathered porch-floor, + While the sunshine drizzles through the great oaks. + + And there is my grandmother's kneeling figure, + Turning over the rich black earth with her trowel; + And the kind wrinkles on her face, as she says: + "Didn't the pansies do finely this year, Clem? + And the scarlet verbenas, and the larkspurs, + And the row of flaming salvia.... + Those roses ... they're Marechal Niels ... my favorites. + And little grandson, smell this spray of rose-geranium-- + Just think, when grandmother was a little tiny girl + Her grandmother grew them in her yard!" + + CLEMENT WOOD + + +FOUR O'CLOCKS + + It is mid-afternoon. Long, long ago + Each morning-glory sheathed the slender horn + It blew so gayly on the hills of morn, + And fainted in the noontide's fervid glow. + + Gone are the dew-drops from the rose's heart-- + Gone with the freshness of the early hours, + The songs that filled the air with silver showers, + The lovely dreams that were of morn a part. + + Yet still in tender light the garden lies; + The warm, sweet winds are whispering soft and low; + Brown bees and butterflies flit to and fro; + The peace of heaven is in the o'erarching skies. + + And here be four-o'clocks, just opening wide + Their many colored petals to the sun, + As glad to live as if the evening dun + Were far away, and morning had not died! + + JULIA C. R. DORR + + +ASKING FOR ROSES + + A house that lacks, seemingly, mistress and master, + With doors that none but the wind ever closes, + Its floor all littered with glass and with plaster; + It stands in a garden of old-fashioned roses. + + I pass by that way in the gloaming with Mary; + "I wonder," I say, "who the owner of those is." + "Oh, no one you know," she answers me airy, + "But one we must ask if we want any roses." + + So we must join hands in the dew coming coldly + There in the hush of the wood that reposes, + And turn and go up to the open door boldly, + And knock to the echoes as beggars for roses. + + "Pray, are you within there, Mistress Who-were-you?" + 'Tis Mary that speaks and our errand discloses. + "Pray are you within there? Bestir you, bestir you! + 'Tis summer again; there's two come for roses. + + "A word with you, that of the singer recalling-- + Old Herrick: a saying that every man knows is + A flower unplucked is but left to the falling, + And nothing is gained by not gathering roses." + + We do not loosen our hands' intertwining + (Not caring so very much what she supposes), + There when she comes on us mistily shining + And grants us by silence the boon of her roses. + + ROBERT FROST + + +THE OLD BROCADE + + In a black oak chest all carven, + We found it laid, + Still faintly sweet of Lavender, + An old brocade. + With that perfume came a vision, + A garden fair, + Enclosed by great yew hedges; + A Lady there, + Is culling fresh blown lavender, + And singing goes + Up and down the alleys green-- + A human rose. + The sun glints on her auburn hair + And brightens, too, + The silver buckles that adorn + Each little shoe. + Her 'kerchief and her elbow sleeves + Are cobweb lace; + Her gown, it is our old brocade, + Worn with a grace. + Methinks I hear its soft frou-frou, + And see the sheen + Of its dainty pink moss-rose buds, + Their leaves soft green, + On a ground of palest shell pink, + In garlands laid; + But long dead the Rose who wore it-- + The old brocade. + + M. G. BRERETON + + +STAIRWAYS AND GARDENS + + Gardens and Stairways; those are words that thrill me + Always with vague suggestions of delight. + Stairways and Gardens. Mystery and grace + Seem part of their environment; they fill all space + With memories of things veiled from my sight + In some far place. + + Gardens. The word is overcharged with meaning; + It speaks of moonlight, and a closing door; + Of birds at dawn--of sultry afternoons. + Gardens. I seem to see low branches screening + A vine-roofed arbor with a leaf-tiled floor + Where sunlight swoons. + + Stairways. The word winds upward to a landing, + Then curves and vanishes in space above. + Lights fall, lights rise; soft lights that meet and blend. + Stairways; and some one at the bottom standing + Expectantly with lifted looks of love. + Then steps descend. + + Gardens and Stairways. They belong with song-- + With subtle scents of perfume, myrrh and musk-- + With dawn and dusk--with youth, romance, and mystery, + And times that were and times that are to be. + Stairways and Gardens. + + ELLA WHEELER WILCOX + + +OLD MOTHERS + + I love old mothers--mothers with white hair, + And kindly eyes, and lips grown softly sweet + With murmured blessings over sleeping babes. + There is a something in their quiet grace + That speaks the calm of Sabbath afternoons; + A knowledge in their deep, unfaltering eyes + That far outreaches all philosophy. + Time, with caressing touch, about them weaves + The silver-threaded fairy-shawl of age, + While all the echoes of forgotten songs + Seem joined to lend a sweetness to their speech. + Old mothers!--as they pace with slow-timed step, + Their trembling hands cling gently to youth's strength; + Sweet mothers!--as they pass, one sees again + Old garden-walks, old roses, and old loves. + + CHARLES ROSS + + + + + PASTURES AND HILLSIDES + + +SONG FROM "APRIL" + + _I know + Where the wind flowers blow! + I know, + I have been + Where the wild honey bees + Gather honey for their queen!_ + + _I would be + A wild flower, + Blue sky over me, + For an hour ... an hour! + So the wild bees + Should seek and discover me, + And kiss me ... kiss me ... kiss me! + Not one of the dusky dears should miss me!_ + + _I know + Where the wind flowers blow! + I know, + I have been + Where the little rabbits run + In the warm, yellow sun!_ + + _Oh, to be a wild flower + For an hour ... an hour ... + In the heather! + A bright flower, a wild flower, + Blown by the weather!_ + + _I know, + I have been + Where the wild honey bees + Gather Honey for their queen!_ + + IRENE RUTHERFORD MCLEOD + + +THE ROAD TO THE POOL + + I know a road that leads from town, + A pale road in a Watteau gown + Of wild-rose sprays, that runs away + All fragrant-sandaled, slim and gray. + + It slips along the laurel grove + And down the hill, intent to rove, + And crooks an arm of shadow cool + Around a willow-silvered pool. + + I never travel very far + Beyond the pool where willows are: + There is a shy and native grace + That hovers all about the place, + + And resting there I hardly know + Just where it was I meant to go, + Contented like the road that dozes + In panniered gown of briar roses. + + GRACE HAZARD CONKLING + + +THE WILD ROSE + + Summer has crossed the fields, and where she trod + Violets bloom; the dancing wind-flowers nod, + And daisies blossom all across the sod. + + She passed the brook, and in their glad surprise + The first forget-me-nots smiled at the skies + And caught the very color of her eyes. + + But, sleeping in the meadow-land, she pressed + The dear wild rose so closely to her breast + It stole her heart--and so she loves it best. + + CHARLES BUXTON GOING + + +UP A HILL AND A HILL + + Up a hill and a hill there's a sudden orchard-slope, + And a little tawny field in the sun; + There's a gray wall that coils like a twist of frayed-out rope, + And grasses nodding news one to one. + + Up a hill and a hill there's a windy place to stand, + And between the apple-boughs to find the blue + Of the sleepy summer sea, past the cliffs of orange sand, + With the white charmed ships sliding through. + + Up a hill and a hill there's a little house as gray + As a stone that the glaciers scored and stained; + With a red rose by the door, and a tangled garden-way, + And a face at the window, checker-paned. + + I could climb, I could climb, till the shoes fell off my feet, + Just to find that tawny field above the sea! + Up a hill and a hill,--oh, the honeysuckle's sweet! + And the eyes at the window watch for me! + + FANNIE STEARNS DAVIS + + +THE JOYS OF A SUMMER MORNING + + The smell of the morning that lurks in the hay, + The swish of the scythe + And the roundelay + Of the meadow-lark as he wings away, + Are the joys of a summer morning. + + The daisy's bloom on the meadow's breast, + The wandering bee + And his ceaseless quest + Of the tempting sweets in the clover's crest, + Are the joys of a summer morning. + + The lowing kine on a distant hill, + The rollicking fall + Of the near-by rill + And the lazy drone of the ancient mill, + Are the joys of a summer morning. + + The feathery clouds in a faultless sky, + The new-risen sun + With its kindly eye + And the woodland breezes floating by, + Are the joys of a summer morning. + + HENRY A. WISE WOOD + + +SOUTH WIND + + Where have you been, South Wind, this May-day morning, + With larks aloft, or skimming with the swallow, + Or with blackbirds in a green, sun-glinted thicket? + + Oh, I heard you like a tyrant in the valley; + Your ruffian hosts shook the young, blossoming orchards; + You clapped rude hands, hallooing round the chimney, + And white your pennons streamed along the river. + + You have robbed the bee, South Wind, in your adventure, + Blustering with gentle flowers; but I forgave you + When you stole to me shyly with scent of hawthorn. + + SIEGFRIED SASSOON + + +TO A WEED + + You bold thing! thrusting 'neath the very nose + Of her fastidious majesty, the rose, + Even in the best ordained garden bed, + Unauthorized, your smiling little head! + + The gardener, mind! will come in his big boots, + And drag you up by your rebellious roots, + And cast you forth to shrivel in the sun, + Your daring quelled, your little weed's life done. + + And when the noon cools, and the sun drops low, + He'll come again with his big wheelbarrow, + And trundle you--I don't know clearly where, + But off, outside the dew, the light, the air. + + Meantime--ah, yes! the air is very blue, + And gold the light, and diamond the dew,-- + You laugh and courtesy in your worthless way, + And you are gay, ah, so exceeding gay! + + You argue in your manner of a weed, + You did not make yourself grow from a seed, + You fancy you've a claim to standing-room, + You dream yourself a right to breathe and bloom. + + The sun loves you, you think, just as the rose, + He never scorned you for a weed,--he knows! + The green-gold flies rest on you and are glad, + It's only cross old gardeners find you bad. + + You know, you weed, I quite agree with you, + I am a weed myself, and I laugh too,-- + Both, just as long as we can shun his eye, + Let's sniff at the old gardener trudging by! + + GERTRUDE HALL + + +THE PASTURE + + I'm going out to clean the pasture spring; + I'll only stop to rake the leaves away + (And wait to watch the water clear, I may): + I sha'n't be gone long.--You come too. + + I'm going out to fetch the little calf + That's standing by the mother. It's so young, + It totters when she licks it with her tongue. + I sha'n't be gone long.--You come too. + + ROBERT FROST + + +THE THISTLE + + Ha, prickle-armed knight, + How oft the world hath cursed thee, + Thou pestilence of Earth, + The beldame who hath nursed thee! + + Hath hellish Proserpine + Her needs lent to arm thee + That mischief-loving gods, + Pricked sorely, may not harm thee? + + Or hath the mirthful Love + Presented thee his pinions + To dress thy tiny seeds, + The curse of man's dominions! + + Thou like a maiden art + Who best can find protection + Employed at needlework + From idleness' infection. + + And like a prude thou art + When he who loves embraces; + Thou dost repel with thorns + And she with sharper phrases. + + And like the wraith thou art + Wherewith my heart is haunted; + Ye both take most delight + Where ye the least are wanted. + + MILES M. DAWSON + + +CLOVER + + Little masters, hat in hand, + Let me in your presence stand, + Till your silence solve for me + This your threefold mystery. + + Tell me--for I long to know-- + How, in darkness there below, + Was your fairy fabric spun, + Spread and fashioned, three in one. + + Did your gossips gold and blue, + Sky and Sunshine, choose for you, + Ere your triple forms were seen, + Suited liveries of green? + + Can ye--if ye dwelt indeed + Captives of a prison seed-- + Like the Genie, once again + Get you back into the grain? + + Little masters, may I stand + In your presence, hat in hand, + Waiting till you solve for me + This your threefold mystery? + + JOHN B. TABB + + +WILD GARDENS + + On the ripened grass is a bloomy mist + Of silver and rose and amethyst + Where the long June wave has run. + + There are glints of copper and tarnished brass, + And hyacinthine flames that pass + From the green fires of the sun. + + This web of a thousand gleams and glows + Was woven silently out of the snows + And the patient shine and rain. + + It was fashioned cunningly day by day + From the silken spear to the pollened spray + With its folded sheaths of grain. + + Oh, garden of grasses deep and wild, + So dear to the vagrant and the child + And the singer of an hour. + + To the wayworn soul you give your balm, + Your cup of peace, your stringed psalm, + Your grace of bud and flower. + + ADA FOSTER MURRAY + + +THE DANDELION + + O dandelion, rich and haughty, + King of village flowers! + Each day is coronation time, + You have no humble hours. + I like to see you bring a troop + To beat the blue-grass spears, + To scorn the lawn-mower that would be + Like fate's triumphant shears. + Your yellow heads are cut away, + It seems your reign is o'er. + By noon you raise a sea of stars + More golden than before. + + VACHEL LINDSAY + + +JOE-PYEWEED + + And the name brings back those kindly hills + And the drowsing life so new to me; + And the welcome that those purple blossoms + With their tiny trumpets blew to me. + + Stout and tall, they raised their clustered heads, + Leaping, as a lusty fellow would, + Through the lowlands, down the twisting cow-paths; + Running past the green and yellow wood. + + How they come again--those rambling roads; + And the weeds' wild jewels glowing there. + Richer than a Paradise of flowers + Was that bit of pasture growing there. + + Weeds--the very names call up those faint + Half-forgotten smells and cries again ... + Weeds--like some old charm, I say them over, + And the rolling Berkshires rise again: + + _Basil, Boneset, Toadflax, Tansy, + Weeds of every form and fancy; + Milk-weed, Mullein, Loose-strife, Jewel-weed, + Mustard, Thimble-weed, Tear-thumb (a cruel weed). + Clovers in all sorts--Nonesuch, Melilot; + Staring Buttercups, a bold and yellow lot. + Daisies rioting about the place + With Black-eyed Susan and Queen Anne's Lace...._ + + Names--they blossom into colored hills; + Hills whose rousing beauty flows to me ... + And with all its soundless, purple trumpets, + Lo, the Joe-Pyeweed still blows to me! + + LOUIS UNTERMEYER + + +TO A DAISY + + Slight as thou art, thou art enough to hide + Like all created things, secrets from me, + And stand a barrier to eternity. + And I, how can I praise thee well and wide + + From where I dwell--upon the hither side? + Thou little veil for so great mystery, + When shall I penetrate all things and thee, + And then look back? For this I must abide, + + Till thou shalt grow and fold and be unfurled + Literally between me and the world. + Then I shall drink from in beneath a spring, + + And from a poet's side shall read his book. + O daisy mine, what will it be to look + From God's side even of such a simple thing? + + ALICE MEYNELL + + +A SOFT DAY + + A soft day, thank God! + A wind from the south + With a honeyed mouth; + A scent of drenching leaves, + Briar and beech and lime, + White elder-flower and thyme + And the soaking grass smells sweet, + Crushed by my two bare feet, + While the rain drips, + Drips, drips, drips from the eaves. + + A soft day, thank God! + The hills wear a shroud + Of silver cloud; + The web the spider weaves + Is a glittering net; + The woodland path is wet, + And the soaking earth smells sweet + Under my two bare feet, + And the rain drips, + Drips, drips, drips from the eaves. + + W. M. LETTS + + +ARBUTUS + + Not Spring's + Thou art, but hers, + Most cool, most virginal, + Winter's, with thy faint breath, thy snows + Rose-tinged. + + ADELAIDE CRAPSEY + + +JEWEL-WEED + + Thou lonely, dew-wet mountain road, + Traversed by toiling feet each day, + What rare enchantment maketh thee + Appear so gay? + + Thy sentinels, on either hand + Rise tamarack, birch, and balsam-fir, + O'er the familiar shrubs that greet + The wayfarer; + + But here's a magic cometh new-- + A joy to gladden thee, indeed: + This passionate out-flowering of + The jewel-weed, + + That now, when days are growing drear, + As Summer dreams that she is old, + Hangs out a myriad pleasure-bells + Of mottled gold! + + Thine only, these, thou lonely road! + Though hands that take, and naught restore, + Rob thee of other treasured things, + Thine these are, for + + A fairy, cradled in each bloom, + To all who pass the charmed spot + Whispers in warning: "Friend, admire,-- + But touch me not! + + "Leave me to blossom where I sprung, + A joy untarnished shall I seem; + Pluck me, and you dispel the charm + And blur the dream!" + + FLORENCE EARLE COATES + + +THE WALL + +"_Something there is that doesn't like a wall._" (ROBERT FROST) + + "Not like a wall?" + I sit above the meadow in the glowing fall + Tracing the grey redoubt from square to square + Which bound the acres harvest-ripe and fair,-- + And wonder if it's true? + Nay, ask the sumac and the teeming vine, + That lean upon the boulders, + The crimsoning ivy and the wild woodbine + Whose eager fingers clutch the stony shoulders, + The golden rod, the aster and the rue. + Ask the red squirrel with the chubby cheek + Skipping from stone to stone + By a quick route, his hidden hoard to seek, + Making the little viaduct his own. + Look where the woodchuck lifts a cautious head + Between the rocks close by the cabbage bed; + The honey-bees have built a secret hive + In a forgotten chink; + And there a grey cocoon is tucked away + Shrouding a miracle in mauve and pink + To wait its Easter day. + The wall with pageantry is all alive! + + And I who gaze + On the dark border here, + Drawn like a ribbon round the pasture-ways, + Embroidered with the glory of the year,-- + Do I not like the wall? + Lo, I remember how in days of old + My grandsire toiled with weariness and pain + To dig the cumbering boulders from the mould; + Piled them in ordered rows again, + Fitting them firm and fast, + A monument to last + Long after his own harried day was past. + He cleared the rocky soil for corn and grain + By which his children throve + To carry on the race. + We live by his life-giving. + I see each stone, rough like his granite face,-- + Uncompromising, stern, no slave to love, + Dowered with little grace, + Grim with the hard, unjoyful task of living, + But strong to stand the wrath of storm and time, + And bolts that heaven let fall. + Built of a patriot's prime,-- + I love the wall! + + ABBIE FARWELL BROWN + + +BOULDERS + + There is a look of wisdom in yon stones, + Great boulders basking in the noonday heat, + Their grimness lightened by a fringe of sweet + Fresh fern or moss or green-gray lichen tones. + While through the glade an insect army drones + And birds from neighboring boughs their notes repeat, + These patriarchs, drowsing as in bliss complete, + Rest on the flowery sward their tranquil bones. + + A thousand or ten thousand years ago, + Shattered by frost, or by the torrent's might, + These boulders hurtled from some toppling height + And crashed through forests to the plain below. + Now, reconciled to Nature's gentler mood, + They lie on lowly earth and find it good. + + CHARLES WHARTON STORK + + +AFTERNOON ON A HILL + + I will be the gladdest thing + Under the sun; + I will touch a hundred flowers + And not pick one; + + I will look at cliffs and clouds + With quiet eyes; + Watch the wind bow down the grass, + And the grass rise; + + And when lights begin to show + Up from the town, + I will mark which must be mine, + And then start down. + + EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY + + +THE GOLDEN-ROD + + O Rod of gold! + O swaying sceptre of the year-- + Now frost and cold + Show Winter near, + And shivering leaves grow brown and sere. + The bleak hillside, + And marshy waste of yellow reeds, + And meadows wide + Where frosted weeds + Shake on the damp wind light-winged seeds, + Are decked with thee,-- + The lingering Summer's latest grace, + And sovereignty. + Each wind-swept space + Waves thy red gold in Winter's face-- + He strives each star, + In stormy pride to lay full low; + But when thy bar + Resists his blow, + Will crown thee with a puff of snow! + + MARGARET DELAND + + +THE PATH THAT LEADS TO NOWHERE + + There's a path that leads to nowhere + In a meadow that I know, + Where an inland island rises + And the stream is still and slow; + There it wanders under willows + And beneath the silver green + Of the birches' silent shadows + Where the early violets lean. + + Other pathways lead to Somewhere, + But the one I love so well + Had no end and no beginning-- + Just the beauty of the dell, + Just the windflowers and the lilies, + Yellow striped as adder's tongue + Seem to satisfy my pathway + As it winds their sweets among. + + There I go to meet the Spring-time, + When the meadow is aglow, + Marigolds amid the marshes,-- + And the stream is still and slow.-- + There I find my fair oasis, + And with care-free feet I tread + For the pathway leads to nowhere, + And the blue is overhead! + + All the ways that lead to Somewhere + Echo with the hurrying feet + Of the Struggling and the Striving, + But the way I find so sweet + Bids me dream and bids me linger, + Joy and Beauty are its goal,-- + On the path that leads to nowhere + I have sometimes found my soul! + + CORINNE ROOSEVELT ROBINSON + + + + + LOVERS AND ROSES + + +THE MESSAGE + + _So fair the world about me lies, + So pure is heaven above, + Ere so much beauty dies + I would give a gift to my love; + Now, ere the long day close, + That has been so full of bliss, + I will send to my love the rose, + In its leaves I will shut a kiss; + A rose in the night to perish, + A kiss through life to cherish; + Now, ere the night-wind blows, + I will send unto her the rose._ + + GEORGE EDWARD WOODBERRY + + +"WHERE LOVE IS LIFE" + + Where love is life + The roses blow, + Though winds be rude + And cold the snow, + The roses climb + Serenely slow, + They nod in rhyme + We know--we know + Where love is life + The roses blow. + + Where life is love + The roses blow, + Though care be quick + And sorrows grow, + Their roots are twined + With rose-roots so + That rosebuds find + A way to show + Where life is love + The roses blow. + + DUNCAN CAMPBELL SCOTT + + +THE TIME OF ROSES + + Love, it is the time of roses! + In bright fields and garden-closes + How they burgeon and unfold! + How they sweep o'er tombs and towers + In voluptuous crimson showers + And untrammelled tides of gold! + + How they lure wild bees to capture + All the rich mellifluous rapture + Of their magical perfume, + And to passing winds surrender + And their frail and dazzling splendor + Rivalling your turban-plume! + + How they cleave the air adorning + The high rivers of the morning + In a blithe, bejewelled fleet! + How they deck the moonlit grasses + In thick rainbow tinted masses + Like a fair queen's bridal sheet! + + Hide me in a shrine of roses, + Drown me in a wine of roses + Drawn from every fragrant grove! + Bind me on a pyre of roses, + Burn me in a fire of roses, + Crown me with the rose of Love! + + SAROJINI NAIDU + + +LOVE PLANTED A ROSE + + Love planted a rose, + And the world turned sweet. + Where the wheat-field blows + Love planted a rose. + Up the mill-wheel's prose + Ran a music-beat. + Love planted a rose, + And the world turned sweet. + + KATHARINE LEE BATES + + +THE GARDEN + + My heart shall be thy garden. Come, my own, + Into thy garden; thine be happy hours + Among my fairest thoughts, my tallest flowers, + From root to crowning petal thine alone. + + Thine is the place from where the seeds are sown + Up to the sky enclosed, with all its showers. + But ah, the birds, the birds! Who shall build bowers + To keep these thine? O friend, the birds have flown. + + For as these come and go, and quit our pine + To follow the sweet season, or, new-comers, + Sing one song only from our alder-trees, + + My heart has thoughts, which, though thine eyes hold mine, + Fit to the silent world and other summers, + With wings that dip beyond the silver seas. + + ALICE MEYNELL + + +CLOUD AND FLOWER + + I saw the giant stalking to the sky, + The giant cloud above the wilderness, + Bearing a mystery too far, too high, + For my poor guess. + Away I turned me, sighing: "I must seek + In lowlier places for the wonder-word. + Something more little, intimate, shall speak." + A bright rose stirred. + And long I looked into its face, to see + At last some hidden import of the hour. + + And I had thought to turn from mystery-- + But O, flower! flower! + + AGNES LEE + + +PROGRESS + + There seems no difference between + To-day and yesterday-- + The forest glimmers just as green, + The garden's just as gay. + + Yet, something came and something went + Within the night's chill gloom: + An old rose fell, her fragrance spent, + A new rose burst in bloom. + + CHARLOTTE BECKER + + +"BUT WE DID WALK IN EDEN" + + But we did walk in Eden, + Eden, the garden of God;-- + There, where no beckoning wonder + Of all the paths we trod, + No choiring sun-filled vineyard, + No voice of stream or bird, + But was some radiant oracle + And flaming with the Word! + + Mine ears are dim with voices; + Mine eyes yet strive to see + The black things here to wonder at, + The mirth,--the misery. + Beloved, who wert with me there, + How came these shames to be?-- + On what lost star are we? + + Men say: The paths of gladness + By men were never trod!-- + But we have walked in Eden, + Eden, the garden of God. + + JOSEPHINE PRESTON PEABODY + + +A GARDEN-PIECE + + Among the flowers of summer-time she stood, + And underneath the films and blossoms shone + Her face, like some pomegranate strangely grown + To ripe magnificence in solitude; + The wanton winds, deft whisperers, had strewed + Her shoulders with her shining hair out blown, + And dyed her breast with many a changing tone + Of silvery green, and all the hues that brood + Among the flowers; + She raised her arm up for her dove to know + That he might preen him on her lovely head; + Then I, unseen, and rising on tiptoe, + Bowed over the rose-barriers, and lo! + Touched not her arm, but kissed her lips instead, + Among the flowers! + + EDMUND GOSSE + + +"HOW MANY FLOWERS ARE GENTLY MET" + + How many flowers are gently met + Within my garden fair! + The daffodil, the violet, + And lilies dear are there. + + They fade and pass, the fleeting flowers, + And brief their little light; + They hold not Love's diviner hours, + Nor Sower's human night. + + Tho' one by one their bloom depart, + No change thy lover knows, + For mine the fragrance of thy heart, + O thou my perfect rose! + + GEORGE STERLING + + +WITH A ROSE, TO BRUNHILDE + + Brunhilde, with the young Norn soul + That has no peace, and grim as those + That spun the thread of life, give heed: + Peace is concealed in every rose. + And in these petals peace I bring: + A jewel clearer than the dew: + A perfume subtler than the breath + Of Spring with which it circles you. + + Peace I have found, asleep, awake, + By many paths, on many a strand. + Peace overspreads the sky with stars. + Peace is concealed within your hand. + And when at night I clasp it there + I wonder how you never know + The strength you shed from finger-tips: + The treasure that consoles me so. + + Begin the art of finding peace, + Beloved:--it is art, no less. + Sometimes we find it hid beneath + The orchards in their springtime dress: + Sometimes one finds it in oak woods, + Sometimes in dazzling mountain-snows; + In books, sometimes. But pray begin + By finding it within a rose. + + VACHEL LINDSAY + + +"MY SOUL IS LIKE A GARDEN-CLOSE" + + My soul is like a garden-close + Where marjoram and lilac grow, + Where soft the scent of long ago + Over the border lightly blows. + + Where sometimes homing winds at play + Bear the faint fragrance of a rose-- + My soul is like a garden-close + Because you chanced to pass my way. + + THOMAS S. JONES, JR. + + +A DREAM + + I dreamed a dream of roses somewhere breathing + Their sweet souls out upon the summer night: + The flowers I saw not, but their fragrance wreathing + Like clouds of incense filled me with delight. + And then as if for my still further pleasure + There came a flood of sweetest melody,-- + But whence I knew not flowed the wondrous measure, + For neither flute nor viol could I see. + Then in the vision love sublime, immortal, + Encircled all my soul with its pure stream; + And though I saw thee not through dreamland's portal, + I knew thou only hadst inspired the dream. + 'Tis thus thine influence itself discloses, + In dreams of love, of music, and of roses! + + ANTOINETTE DE COURSEY PATTERSON + + +THE ROSE + + The rose-tree wears a diadem, + Both bud and bloom of gold and fire, + Too high upon the slender stem + For baby hands that reach for them: + + And _Roses!_ my brown Elsa cries: + Her chubby arms in vain aspire. + But rose-leaf Hilda smiles and sighs + And worships them with patient eyes. + + I gathered them a rose or two, + But not the shy one hanging higher + That brushed my lips with honey-dew! + _That_ is the rose I send to you. + + GRACE HAZARD CONKLING + + +PRAYER + + Would that I might become you, + Losing myself, my sweet!-- + So longs the dust that lies + About the rose's feet. + + So longs the last, dim star + Hung on the verge of night;-- + She moves--she melts--she slips-- + She trembles into the light. + + JOHN HALL WHEELOCK + + +IN A GARDEN + + I sat one day within a garden fair + Pining for thee and sad because alone, + Wishing some fate could send thee to me there. + + All things appeared to share my saddened mood, + Each flower drooped, the sun was hid from view, + The very birds in silence seemed to brood. + + Then, as I day-dreamed with my eyes half closed, + Sudden the birds began to sing again, + The flow'rs, uplifting heads, no longer dozed. + + Thinking the sun had come once more for me + And for all nature, to effect such change, + I turned and lo! saw not the sun but thee. + + LIVINGSTON L. BIDDLE + + +A SONG OF FAIRIES + + Oh, the beauty of the world is in this garden, + I hear it stir on every hand. + See how the flowers keep still because of it! + hear how it trembles in the blackbird's song! + There is a secret in it, a blessed mystery. + I fain would weep to feel it near me, my eyes + grow dim before these unseen wings. + And the secret is in other places, it is in songs + and music and all lovers' hearts. + Hush now, and walk on tiptoe, for these are fairy things. + + ELIZABETH KIRBY + + +A SONG TO BELINDA + + Belinda in her dimity, + Whereon are wrought pink roses, + Trips through the boxwood paths to me, + A-down the garden-closes, + As though a hundred roses came, + ('Twas so I thought) to meet me, + As though one rosebud said my name + And bent its head to greet me. + + Belinda, in your rose-wrought dress + You seemed the garden's growing; + The tilt and toss o' you, no less + Than wind-swayed posy blowing. + 'Twas so I watched in sweet dismay, + Lest in that happy hour, + Sudden you'd stop and thrill and sway + And turn into a flower. + + THEODOSIA GARRISON + + +SWEETHEART-LADY + + De roses lean ter love her an' des won't leave de place; + De climbin' mawnin'-glories sweet-smilin' in her face; + De twinklin' pathway know her an' seem ter pass de word, + An' de South Win' singin' ter her ter match de mockin'-bird. + + She sweetheart ter de Springtime, + W'en de dreamy roses stir, + An' Winter shine lak' Summer + An' wear a rose fer her. + + "Sweetheart!" sing de Medder, w'en lak' de light she pass; + De River take de tune up: "Make me yo' lookin'-glass!" + But des who her true lover she never let 'em know; + De Win' is sich a tell-tale, an' de River run on so! + + But Springtime come a-courtin' + An' let de blossoms fall, + An' Summer say: "I loves you!" + She sweetheart ter 'em ALL! + + FRANK L. STANTON + + +HEART'S GARDEN + + I have a garden filled with many flowers: + The mignonette, the sweet-pea, and the rose, + Daisies, and daffodils, whose color glows + The fairer for the verdure which embowers + Their beauty, and sets forth their hidden powers + To charm my heart, whenever at the close + Of day's dull hurry I would seek repose + In my still garden through the darkening hours. + + Thus, Lady, do I keep a place apart, + Wherein my love for you cloistered shall be, + Far from the rattle of the city cart, + Even as my garden, where daily I may see + The flowers of your love, and none from me + May win the hidden secret of my heart. + + NORREYS JEPHSON O'CONOR + + +A ROSE LOVER + + Do thou, my rose, incline + Thy heart to mine. + If love be real + Ah, whisper, whisper low + That I at last may know. + Quick! breathe it now! + A sigh,--a tear,--a vow: + Oh, any lightest thing + Its cadences to sing + That loved am I, and not, + Ah, not forgot! + + FREDERIC A. WHITING + + +SONNET + + The sweet caresses that I gave to you + Are but the perfume of the Rose of Love, + The color and the witchery thereof, + And not the Rose itself. Each is a clue + Merely, whereby to seek the hidden, true, + Substantial blossom. Like the Jordan dove + A kiss is but a symbol from above-- + An emblem the Reality shines through. + + The Rose of Love is ever unrevealed + In all its beauty, for the sight of it + Were perilous with purpose of the world. + The hand of Life has cautiously concealed + The pollen-chamber of the infinite + Flower, and its petals only half uncurled. + + ELSA BARKER + + +A SONG IN A GARDEN + + Will the garden never forget + That it whispers over and over, + "Where is your lover, Nanette? + Where is your lover--your lover?" + Oh, roses I helped to grow, + Oh, lily and mignonette, + Must you always question me so, + "Where is your lover, Nanette?" + Since you looked on my joy one day, + Is my grief then a lesser thing? + Have you only this to say + When I pray you for comforting? + + Now that I walk alone + Here where our hands were met, + Must you whisper me everyone, + "Where is your lover, Nanette?" + + I have mourned with you year and year, + When the Autumn has left you bare, + And now that my heart is sere + Does not one of your roses care? + Oh, help me forget--forget, + Nor question over and over, + "Where is your lover, Nanette? + Where is your lover--your lover?" + + THEODOSIA GARRISON + + +"IT WAS JUNE IN THE GARDEN" + + It was June in the garden, + It was our time, our day; + And our gaze with love on everything + Did fall; + They seemed then softly opening, + And they saw and loved us both, + The roses all. + + The sky was purer than all limpid thought; + Insect and bird + Swept through the golden texture of the air, + Unheard; + Our kisses were so fair they brought + Exaltation to both light and bird. + It seemed as though a happiness at once + Had skied itself and wished the heavens entire + For its resplendent fire; + And life, all pulsing life, had entered in, + Into the fissures of our beings to the core, + To fling them higher. + + And there was nothing but invocatory cries, + Mad impulses, prayers and vows that cleave + The arched skies, + And sudden yearning to create new gods, + In order to believe. + + EMILE VERHAEREN + + +TWO ROSES + + A fair white rose sedately grows + Within the garden wall. There blows + No wind to ruff her petals white, + No stain of earth, no touch of blight + The pure face of my ladye shows. + The queen of all the walls enclose + Might be mine own, an' if I chose; + But yet, but yet I cannot slight + My wild red rose. + + Outside the garden wall she throws + Her clinging tendrils, and she knows + How strong the winds of passion smite; + She's fragrant, though not faultless quite; + Just as she is, none shall depose + My wild red rose. + + WILLIAM LINDSEY + + +ROSES + + Red roses floating in a crystal bowl + You bring, O love; and in your eyes I see, + Blossom on blossom, your warm love of me + Burning within the crystal of your soul-- + Red roses floating in a crystal bowl. + + WILFRID WILSON GIBSON + + +HER GARDEN + + This friendly garden, with its fragrant roses,-- + It was not ours, when she was here below; + And so, in that low bed where she reposes, + The beauty of it all she cannot know. + + But in the evening when the birds are calling + The fragrance rises like a breath of myrrh, + And in my empty heart, benignly falling, + Becomes a little prayer to send to her. + + So, in that silent, lonely bed that holds her, + Where nevermore the shadows rise or flee, + I think a dream of radiant spring enfolds her-- + Of bloom and bird and bending bough ... and me. + + LOUIS DODGE + + +AERE PERENNIUS + + As long as the stars of God + Hang steadfast in the sky, + And the blossoms 'neath the sod + Awake when Spring is nigh; + As long as the nightingale + Sings love-songs to the rose, + And the Winter wind in the vale + Makes moan o'er the virgin snows-- + As long as these things be + I would tell my love for thee! + + As long as the rose of June + Bursts forth in crimson fire, + And the mellow harvest-moon + Shines over hill and spire; + As long as heaven's dew + At morning kisses the sod; + As long as you are you, + And I know that God is God-- + As long as these things be + I would tell my love for thee! + + CHARLES HANSON TOWNE + + +EVER THE SAME + + King Solomon walked a thousand times + Forth of his garden-close; + And saw there spring no goodlier thing, + Be sure, than the same little rose. + + Under the sun was nothing new, + Or now, I well suppose. + But what new thing could you find to sing + More rare than the same little rose? + + Nothing is new; save I, save you, + And every new heart that grows, + On the same Earth met, that nurtures yet + Breath of the same little rose. + + JOSEPHINE PRESTON PEABODY + + +THE MESSAGE + + When one has heard the message of the Rose, + For what faint other calling shall he care? + Dark broodings turn to find their lonely lair; + The vain world keeps her posturing and pose. + He, with his crimson secret, which bestows + Heaven in his heart, to Heaven lifts his prayer, + And knows all glory trembling through the air + As on triumphal journeying he goes. + + So through green woodlands in the twilight dim, + Led by the faint, pale argent of a star, + What though to others it is weary night, + Nature holds out her wide, sweet heart to him; + And, leaning o'er the world's mysterious bar, + His soul is great with everlasting light. + + HELEN HAY WHITNEY + + +TELL-TALE + + The Lily whispered to the Rose: + "The Tulip's fearfully stuck up. + You'd think to see the creature's pose, + She was a golden altar-cup. + There's method in her boldness, too; + She catches twice her share of Dew." + + The Rose into the Tulip's ear + Murmured: "The Lily is a sight; + Don't you believe she _powders_, dear, + To make herself so saintly white? + She takes some trouble, it is plain, + Her reputation to sustain." + + Said Tulip to the Lily white: + "About the Rose--what do you think?-- + Her color? Should you say it's quite-- + Well, quite a natural shade of pink?" + "Natural!" the Lily cried. "Good Saints! + Why, _everybody_ knows she paints!" + + OLIVER HERFORD + + +DA THIEF + + Eef poor man goes + An' steals a rose + Een Juna-time-- + Wan leetla rose-- + You gon' su'pose + Dat dat's a crime? + + Eh! w'at? Den taka look at me, + For here bayfore your eyes you see + Wan thief dat ees so glad an' proud + He gona brag of eet out loud! + So moocha good I do, an' feel + From dat wan leetla rose I steal, + Dat eef I gon' to jail to-day + Dey could no tak' my joy away. + So, lees'en! here ees how eet com': + Las' night w'en I am walkin' home + From work een hotta ceety street, + Ees sudden com' a smal so sweet + Eet maka heaven een my nose-- + I look an' dere I see da rose! + Not wan, but manny, fine an' tall, + Dat peep at me above da wall. + So, too, I close my eyes an' find + Anudder peecture een my mind; + I see a house dat's small an' hot + Where manny pretta theengs is not, + Where leetla woman, good an' true, + Ees work so hard da whole day through, + She's too wore out, w'en com's da night, + For smile an' mak' da housa bright. + + But, presto! now I'm home an' she + Ees settin' on da step weeth me. + Bambino, sleepin' on her breast, + Ees nevva know more sweeta rest, + An' nevva was sooch glad su'prise + Like now ees shina from her eyes; + An' all baycause to-night she wear + Wan leetla rose stuck een her hair. + She ees so please'! Eet mak' me feel + I shoulda sooner learned to steal. + + Eef "thief's" my name + I feel no shame; + Eet ees no crime-- + Dat rose I got. + Eh! w'at? O! not + Een Juna-time! + + T. A. DALY + + +RESULTS AND ROSES + + The man who wants a garden fair, + Or small or very big, + With flowers growing here and there, + Must bend his back and dig. + + The things are mighty few on earth + That wishes can attain. + Whate'er we want of any worth + We've got to work to gain. + + It matters not what goal you seek, + Its secret here reposes: + You've got to dig from week to week + To get Results or Roses. + + EDGAR A. GUEST + + + + + UNDERNEATH THE BOUGH + + +MIRACLE + + _Yesterday the twig was brown and bare; + To-day the glint of green is there + To-morrow will be leaflets spare; + I know no thing so wondrous fair + No miracle so strangely rare._ + + _I wonder what will next be there!_ + + L. H. BAILEY + + +THE AWAKENING + + You little, eager, peeping thing-- + You embryonic point of light + Pushing from out your winter night, + How you do make my pulses sing! + A tiny eye amid the gloom-- + The merest speck I scarce had seen-- + So doth God's rapture rend the tomb + In this wee burst of April green! + + And lo, 'tis here--and lo! 'Tis there-- + Spurting its jets of sweet desire + In upward curling threads of fire + Like tapers kindling all the air. + Why, scarce it seems an hour ago + These branches clashed in bitter cold; + What Power hath set their veins aglow? + O soul of mine, be bold, be bold! + If from this tree, this blackened thing, + Hard as the floor my feet have prest, + This flame of joy comes clamoring + In hues as red as robin's breast + Waking to life this little twig-- + O faith of mine, be big! Be big! + + ANGELA MORGAN + + +SHADE + + The kindliest thing God ever made, + His hand of very healing laid + Upon a fevered world, is shade. + + His glorious company of trees + Throw out their mantles, and on these + The dust-stained wanderer finds ease. + + Green temples, closed against the beat + Of noontime's blinding glare and heat, + Open to any pilgrim's feet. + + The white road blisters in the sun; + Now, half the weary journey done, + Enter and rest, Oh, weary one! + + And feel the dew of dawn still wet + Beneath thy feet, and so forget + The burning highway's ache and fret. + + This is God's hospitality, + And whoso rests beneath a tree + Hath cause to thank Him gratefully. + + THEODOSIA GARRISON + + +SELECTION FROM "UNDER THE TREES" + + The wonderful, strong, angelic trees, + With their blowing locks and their bared great knees + And nourishing bosoms, shout all together, + And rush and rock through the glad wild weather. + + They are so old they teach me, + With their strong hands they reach me, + Into their breast my soul they take, + And keep me there for wisdom's sake. + + They teach me little prayers; + To-day I am their child; + The sweet breath of their innocent airs + Blows through me strange and wild. + + * * * * * + + I never feel afraid + Among the trees; + Of trees are houses made; + And even with these, + Unhewn, untouched, unseen, + Is something homelike in the safe sweet green, + Intimate in the shade. + + * * * * * + + We are all brothers! Come, let's rest awhile + In the great kinship. Underneath the trees + Let's be at home once more, with birds and bees + And gnats and soil and stone. With these I must + Acknowledge family ties. Our mother, the dust, + With wistful and investigating eyes + Searches my soul for the old sturdiness, + Valor, simplicity! Stout virtues these, + We learned at her dear knees. + Friend, you and I + Once played together in the good old days. + Do you remember? Why, brother, down what wild ways + We traveled, when-- + That's right! Draw close to me! + Come now, let's tell the tale beneath the old roof-tree. + + ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH + + +A GARDEN FRIEND + + O comrade tree, perhaps alive as I-- + One process lacking of this mortal clay-- + Give me your constant outlook to the sky, + The courtesy and cheer that fill your day. + + Your noble gift of perfect service teach; + Your wisdom in the wild storm softly bent + Aware 'twill end; your patience that can reach + Across the years from clod to firmament. + + CATHERINE MARKHAM (MRS. EDWIN MARKHAM) + + +A LADY OF THE SNOWS + + The mountain hemlock droops her lacy branches + Oh, so tenderly + In the summer sun! + Yet she has power to baffle avalanches-- + She, rising slenderly + Where the rivers run. + + So pliant yet so powerful! Oh, see her + Spread alluringly + Her thin sea-green dress! + Now from white winter's thrall the sun would free her + To bloom unenduringly + In his glad caress. + + HARRIET MONROE + + +THE TREE + + Spread, delicate roots of my tree, + Feeling, clasping, thrusting, growing; + Sensitive pilgrim root tips roaming everywhere. + Into resistant earth your filaments forcing, + Down in the dark, unknown, desirous: + The strange ceaseless life of you, eating and drinking of earth, + The corrosive secretions of you, breaking the stuff of the world to + your will. + + Tips of my tree in the springtime bursting to terrible beauty, + Folded green life, exquisite, holy exultant; + I feel in you the splendour, the autumn of ripe fulfilment, + Love and labour and death, the sacred pageant of life. + In the sweet curled buds of you, + In the opening glory of leaves, tissues moulded of green light; + Veined, cut, perfect to type, + Each one like a child of high lineage bearing the sigil of race. + + The open hands of my tree held out to the touch of the air + As love that opens its arms and waits on the lover's will; + The curtsey, the sway, and the toss of the spray as it sports with the + breeze; + Rhythmical whisper of leaves that murmur and move in the light; + Crying of wind in the boughs, the beautiful music of pain: + Thus do you sing and say + The sorrow, the effort, the sweet surrender, the joy. + + Come! tented leaves of my tree; + High summer is here, the moment of passionate life, + The hushed, the maternal hour. + Deep in the shaded green your mystery shielding, + Heir of the ancient woods and parent of forests to be, + Lo! to your keeping is given the Father's life-giving thought; + The thing that is dream and deed and carries the gift of the past. + For this, for this, great tree, + The glory of maiden leaves, the solemn stretch of the bough, + The wise persistent roots + Into the stuff of the world their filaments forcing, + Breaking the earth to their need. + + * * * * * + + Tall tree, your name is peace. + You are the channel of God: + His mystical sap, + Elixir of infinite love, syrup of infinite power, + Swelling and shaping, brooding and hiding, + With out-thrust of delicate joy, with pitiless pageant of death, + Sings in your cells; + Its rhythmical cycle of life + In you is fulfilled. + + EVELYN UNDERHILL + + +"LOVELIEST OF TREES" + + Loveliest of trees, the cherry now + Is hung with bloom along the bough, + And stands about the woodland ride + Wearing white for Eastertide. + + Now, of my threescore years and ten, + Twenty will not come again, + And take from seventy springs a score, + It only leaves me fifty more. + + And since to look at things in bloom + Fifty springs are little room, + About the woodlands I will go + To see the cherry hung with snow. + + A. E. HOUSMAN + + +THE SPIRIT OF THE BIRCH + + I am the dancer of the wood + I shimmer in the solitude + Men call me Birch Tree, yet I know + In other days it was not so. + I am a Dryad slim and white + Who danced too long one summer night, + And the Dawn found and prisoned me! + Captive I moaned my liberty. + But let the wood wind flutes begin + Their elfin music, faint and thin, + I sway, I bend, retreat, advance, + And evermore--I dance! I dance! + + ARTHUR KETCHUM + + +FAMILY TREES + + You boast about your ancient line, + But listen, stranger, unto mine: + + You trace your lineage afar, + Back to the heroes of a war + Fought that a country might be free; + Yea, farther--to a stormy sea + Where winter's angry billows tossed, + O'er which your Pilgrim Fathers crossed. + Nay, more--through yellow, dusty tomes + You trace your name to English homes + Before the distant, unknown West + Lay open to a world's behest; + Yea, back to days of those Crusades + When Turk and Christian crossed their blades, + You point with pride to ancient names, + To powdered sires and painted dames; + You boast of this--your family tree; + Now listen, stranger, unto me: + + When armored knights and gallant squires, + Your own beloved, honored sires, + Were in their infants' blankets rolled, + My fathers' youngest sons were old; + When they broke forth in infant tears + My fathers' heads were crowned with years, + Yea, ere the mighty Saxon host + Of which you sing had touched the coast, + Looked back as far as you look now. + Yea, when the Druids trod the wood, + My venerable fathers stood + And gazed through misty centuries + As far as even Memory sees. + When Britain's eldest first beheld + The light, my fathers then were eld. + You of the splendid ancestry, + Who boast about your family tree, + + Consider, stranger, this of mine-- + Bethink the lineage of a Pine. + + DOUGLAS MALLOCH + + +IDEALISTS + + Brother Tree: + Why do you reach and reach? + Do you dream some day to touch the sky? + Brother Stream: + Why do you run and run? + Do you dream some day to fill the sea? + Brother Bird: + Why do you sing and sing? + Do you dream-- + _Young Man: + Why do you talk and talk and talk?_ + + ALFRED KREYMBORG + + +"DRAW CLOSER, O YE TREES" + + O quiet cottage room, + Whose casements, looking o'er the garden-close, + Are hid in wildings and the woodbine bloom + And many a clambering rose, + + Sweet is thy light subdued, + Gracious and soft, lingering upon my book, + As that which shimmers through the branched wood + Above some dreamful nook! + + Leaning within my chair, + Through the curtain I can see the stir-- + The gentle undulations of the air-- + Sway the dark-layered fir; + + And, in the beechen green, + Mark many a squirrel romp and chirrup loud; + While far beyond, the chestnut-boughs between, + Floats the white summer cloud. + + Through the loopholes in the leaves, + Upon the yellow slopes of far-off farms, + I see the rhythmic cradlers and the sheaves + Gleam in the binders' arms. + + At times I note, nearby, + The flicker tapping on some hollow bole; + And watch the sun, against the sky, + The fluting oriole; + + Or, when the day is done, + And the warm splendors make the oak-top flush, + Hear him, full-throated in the setting sun,-- + The darling wildwood thrush. + + O sanctuary shade + Enfold one round! I would no longer roam: + Let not the thought of wandering e'er invade + This still, reclusive home! + + Draw closer, O ye trees! + Veil from my sight e'en the loved mountain's blue; + The world may be more fair beyond all these, + Yet I would know but you! + + LLOYD MIFFLIN + + +TREES + + In the Garden of Eden, planted by God, + There were goodly trees in the springing sod,-- + + Trees of beauty and height and grace, + To stand in splendor before His face. + + Apple and hickory, ash and pear, + Oak and beech and the tulip rare, + + The trembling aspen, the noble pine, + The sweeping elm by the river line; + + Trees for the birds to build and sing, + And the lilac tree for a joy in spring; + + Trees to turn at the frosty call + And carpet the ground for their Lord's footfall; + + Trees for fruitage and fire and shade, + Trees for the cunning builder's trade; + + Wood for the bow, the spear, and the flail, + The keel and the mast of the daring sail; + + He made them of every grain and girth, + For the use of man in the Garden of Earth. + + Then lest the soul should not lift her eyes + From the gift to the Giver of Paradise, + + On the crown of a hill, for all to see, + God planted a scarlet maple tree. + + BLISS CARMAN + + +THE TREES + + There's something in a noble tree-- + What shall I say? a soul? + For 'tis not form, or aught we see + In leaf or branch or bole. + Some presence, though not understood, + Dwells there alway, and seems + To be acquainted with our mood, + And mingles in our dreams. + + I would not say that trees at all + Were of our blood and race, + Yet, lingering where their shadows fall, + I sometimes think I trace + A kinship, whose far-reaching root + Grew when the world began, + And made them best of all things mute + To be the friends of man. + + Held down by whatsoever might + Unto an earthly sod, + They stretch forth arms for air and light, + As we do after God; + And when in all their boughs the breeze + Moans loud, or softly sings, + As our own hearts in us, the trees + Are almost human things. + + What wonder in the days that burned + With old poetic dream, + Dead Phaethon's fair sisters turned + To poplars by the stream! + In many a light cotillion stept + The trees when fluters blew; + And many a tear, 'tis said, they wept + For human sorrow too. + + Mute, said I? They are seldom thus; + They whisper each to each, + And each and all of them to us, + In varied forms of speech. + "Be serious," the solemn pine + Is saying overhead; + "Be beautiful," the elm-tree fine + Has always finely said; + + "Be quick to feel," the aspen still + Repeats the whole day long; + While, from the green slope of the hill, + The oak-tree adds, "Be strong." + When with my burden, as I hear + Their distant voices call, + I rise, and listen, and draw near, + "Be patient," say they all. + + SAMUEL VALENTINE COLE + + +THE POPLARS + + My poplars are like ladies trim, + Each conscious of her own estate; + In costume somewhat over prim, + In manner cordially sedate, + Like two old neighbours met to chat + Beside my garden gate. + + My stately old aristocrats-- + I fancy still their talk must be + Of rose-conserves and Persian cats, + And lavender and Indian tea;-- + I wonder sometimes as I pass + If they approve of me. + + I give them greeting night and morn, + I like to think they answer, too, + With that benign assurance born + When youth gives age the reverence due, + And bend their wise heads as I go + As courteous ladies do. + + Long may you stand before my door, + Oh, kindly neighbours garbed in green, + And bend with rustling welcome o'er + The many friends who pass between; + And where the little children play + Look down with gracious mien. + + THEODOSIA GARRISON + + +TREES + + I think that I shall never see + A poem lovely as a tree. + + A tree whose hungry mouth is prest + Against the earth's sweet flowing breast; + + A tree that looks at God all day, + And lifts her leafy arms to pray; + + A tree that may in Summer wear + A nest of robins in her hair; + + Upon whose bosom snow has lain; + Who intimately lives with rain. + + Poems are made by fools like me, + But only God can make a tree. + + JOYCE KILMER + + + + + THE LOST GARDENS OF THE HEART + + +AS IN A ROSE-JAR + + _As in a rose-jar filled with petals sweet + Blown long ago in some old garden place, + Mayhap, where you and I, a little space + Drank deep of love and knew that love was fleet-- + Or leaves once gathered from a lost retreat + By one who never will again retrace + Her silent footsteps--one, whose gentle face + Was fairer than the roses at her feet;_ + + _So, deep within the vase of memory + I keep my dust of roses fresh and dear + As in the days before I knew the smart + Of time and death. Nor aught can take from me + The haunting fragrance that still lingers here-- + As in a rose-jar, so within the heart!_ + + THOMAS S. JONES, JR. + + +IN AN OLD GARDEN + + Old phantoms haunt it of the long-ago; + Old ghosts of old-time lovers and of dreams: + Within the quiet sunlight there, meseems, + I see them walking where those lilies blow. + The hardy phlox sways to some garments' flow; + The salvia there with sudden scarlet streams, + Caught from some ribbon of some throat that gleams, + Petunia fair, in flounce and furbelow. + I seem to hear their whispers in each wind + That wanders 'mid the flowers. There they stand! + Among the shadows of that apple tree! + They are not dead, whom still it keeps in mind, + This garden, planted by some lovely hand + That keeps it fragrant with its memory. + + MADISON CAWEIN + + +THE GARDEN OF DREAMS + + My heart is a garden of dreams + Where you walk when day is done, + Fair as the royal flowers, + Calm as the lingering sun. + + Never a drouth comes there, + Nor any frost that mars, + Only the wind of love + Under the early stars,-- + + The living breath that moves + Whispering to and fro, + Like the voice of God in the dusk + Of the garden long ago. + + BLISS CARMAN + + +HOMESICK + + O my garden! lying whitely in the moonlight and the dew, + Far across the leagues of distance flies my heart to-night to you, + And I see your stately lilies in the tender radiance gleam + With a dim, mysterious splendor, like the angels of a dream! + + I can see the stealthy shadows creep along the ivied wall, + And the bosky depths of verdure where the drooping vine-leaves fall, + And the tall trees standing darkly with their crowns against the sky, + While overhead the harvest moon goes slowly sailing by. + + I can see the trellised arbor, and the roses' crimson glow, + And the lances of the larkspurs all glittering, row on row, + And the wilderness of hollyhocks, where brown bees seek their spoil, + And butterflies dance all day long, in glad and gay turmoil. + + O, the broad paths running straightly, north and south and east and + west! + O, the wild grape climbing sturdily to reach the oriole's nest! + O, the bank where wild flowers blossom, ferns nod and mosses creep + In a tangled maze of beauty over all the wooded steep! + + Just beyond the moonlit garden I can see the orchard trees, + With their dark boughs overladen, stirring softly in the breeze, + And the shadows on the greensward, and within the pasture bars + The white sheep huddling quietly beneath the pallid stars. + + O my garden! lying whitely in the moonlight and the dew, + Far across the restless ocean flies my yearning heart to you, + And I turn from storied castle, hoary fane, and ruined shrine, + To the dear, familiar pleasaunce where my own white lilies shine-- + + With a vague, half-startled wonder if some night in Paradise, + From the battlements of heaven I shall turn my longing eyes + All the dim, resplendent spaces and the mazy stardrifts through + To my garden lying whitely in the moonlight and the dew! + + JULIA C. R. DORR + + +THE WAYS OF TIME + + As butterflies are but winged flowers, + Half sorry for their change, who fain, + So still and long they live on leaves, + Would be thought flowers again.-- + + E'en so my thoughts, that should expand, + And grow to higher themes above, + Return like butterflies to lie + On the old things I love. + + WILLIAM H. DAVIES + + +A MIDSUMMER GARDEN + + There is a little garden-close, + Girdled by golden apple trees, + That through the long sweet summer hours + Is haunted by the hum of bees. + + The poppy tosses here its torch, + And the tall bee-balm flaunts its fire, + And regally the larkspur lifts + The slender azure of its spire. + + And from the phlox and mignonette + Rich attars drift on every hand; + And when star-vestured twilight comes + The pale moths weave a saraband. + + And crickets in the aisles of grass + With their clear fifing pierce the hush; + And somewhere you may hear anear + The passion of the hermit-thrush. + + It is a place where dreams convene, + Dreams of the dead years gone astray, + Of love and loveliness borne back + From some forgotten yesterday. + + It is a memory-hallowed spot + Where joy assumes its vernal guise, + And two walk silent side by side, + Youth's glory shining in their eyes. + + CLINTON SCOLLARD + + +THE WHITE ROSE + + This is the spirit flower, + The ghost of an old regret; + All night she stands in the garden-close, + And her face with tears is wet. + But I love the pale white rose, + For she always seems to me + A pallid nun who dreams all day + Of a distant memory. + + Alas! how well I know + That every garden spot + Is haunted by a gentle ghost + Who will not be forgot. + In the garden of the heart, + Ere the sun of life is set, + O many a wild rose blooms and dreams + Of many an old regret! + + CHARLES HANSON TOWNE + + +A HAUNTED GARDEN + + Between the moss and stone + The lonely lilies rise; + Wasted and overgrown + The tangled garden lies. + Weeds climb about the stoop + And clutch the crumbling walls; + The drowsy grasses droop-- + The night wind falls. + + The place is like a wood; + No sign is there to tell + Where rose and iris stood + That once she loved so well. + Where phlox and asters grew, + A leafless thornbush stands, + And shrubs that never knew + Her tender hands.... + + Over the broken fence + The moonbeams trail their shrouds; + Their tattered cerements + Cling to the gauzy clouds, + In ribbons frayed and thin-- + And startled by the light, + Silence shrinks deeper in + The depths of night. + + Useless lie spades and rakes; + Rust's on the garden-tools. + Yet, where the moonlight makes + Nebulous silver pools, + A ghostly shape is cast-- + Something unseen has stirred ... + Was it a breeze that passed? + Was it a bird? + + Dead roses lift their heads + Out of a grassy tomb; + From ruined pansy-beds + A thousand pansies bloom. + The gate is opened wide-- + The garden that has been, + Now blossoms like a bride ... + _Who entered in?_ + + LOUIS UNTERMEYER + + +THE DUSTY HOUR-GLASS + + It had been a trim garden, + With parterres of fringed pinks and gillyflowers, + and smooth-raked walks. + Silks and satins had brushed the box edges + of its alleys. + The curved stone lips of its fishponds + had held the rippled reflections of tricorns and + powdered periwigs. + The branches of its trees had glittered with lanterns, + and swayed to the music of flutes and violins. + + Now, the fishponds are green with scum; + And paths and flower-beds + are run together and overgrown. + Only at one end is an octagonal Summerhouse + not yet in ruins. + Through the lozenged panes of its windows, + you can see the interior: + A dusty bench; a fireplace, + with a lacing of letters carved in the stone above it; + A broken ball of worsted + rolled away into a corner. + + _Dolci, dolci, i giorni passati!_ + + AMY LOWELL + + +THE SONG OF WANDERING AENGUS + + I went out to the hazel wood + Because a fire was in my head, + And cut and peeled a hazel wand, + And hooked a berry to a thread; + And when white moths were on the wing, + And moth-like stars were flickering out, + I dropped the berry in a stream, + And caught a little silver trout. + + When I had laid it on the floor, + I went to blow the fire a-flame, + But something rustled on the floor, + And some one called me by my name: + It had become a glimmering girl, + With apple-blossom in her hair, + Who called me by my name and ran + And faded through the brightening air. + + Though I am old with wandering + Through hollow lands and hilly lands, + I will find out where she has gone, + And kiss her lips and take her hands; + And walk among long dappled grass, + And pluck till time and times are done + The silver apples of the moon, + The golden apples of the sun. + + W. B. YEATS + + +THE THREE CHERRY TREES + + There were three cherry trees once, + Grew in a garden all shady; + And there for delight of so gladsome a sight, + Walked a most beautiful lady, + Dreamed a most beautiful lady. + + Birds in those branches did sing, + Blackbird and throstle and linnet, + But she walking there was by far the most fair-- + Lovelier than all else within it, + Blackbird and throstle and linnet. + + But blossoms to berries do come, + All hanging on stalks light and slender, + And one long summer's day charmed that lady away, + With vows sweet and merry and tender; + A lover with voice low and tender. + + Moss and lichen the green branches deck; + Weeds nod in its paths green and shady; + Yet a light footstep seems there to wander in dreams, + The ghost of that beautiful lady, + That happy and beautiful lady. + + WALTER DE LA MARE + + +OLD GARDENS + + The white rose tree that spent its musk + For lovers' sweeter praise, + The stately walks we sought at dusk, + Have missed thee many days. + + Again, with once-familiar feet, + I tread the old parterre-- + But, ah, its bloom is now less sweet + Than when thy face was there. + + I hear the birds of evening call; + I take the wild perfume; + I pluck a rose--to let it fall + And perish in the gloom. + + ARTHUR UPSON + + +THE BLOOMING OF THE ROSE + + What is it like, to be a rose? + + _Old Roses, softly_, "Try and see." + + Nay, I will tarry. Let me be + In my green peacefulness and smile. + I will stay here and dream awhile. + 'Tis well for little buds to dream, + Dream--dream--who knows-- + Say, is it good to be a rose? + Old roses, tell me! Is it good? + + _Old Roses, very softly_, "Good." + + I am afraid to be a rose! + This little sphere wherein I wait, + Curled up and small and delicate, + Lets in a twilight of pure green, + Wherein are dreams of night and morn + And the sweet stillness of a world + Where all things are that are unborn. + + _Old Roses_, "Better to be born." + + I cannot be a bud for long. + My sheath is like a heart full blown, + And I, the silence of a song + Withdrawn into that heart alone, + Well knowing that it shall be sung. + Outside the great world comes and goes-- + I think I doubt, to be a rose-- + + _Old Roses_, "Doubt? To be a Rose!" + + ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH + + +THE GARDEN OF MNEMOSYNE + + There are no roses in the garden now, + The summer birds have vanished oversea, + The ashen keys hang rusty on the bough, + Autumn's gold ensigns flame from tree to tree. + + Music and perfume sleep, and light is fled, + Autumn's fine gold is faery gold, we know. + Where shall we turn for joy when flowers are dead, + When birds are silent, and the cold winds blow? + + The summer birds have vanished oversea, + But Memory's palace-courts are full of song; + There sings a nightingale for you and me, + And there a hidden lute plays all day long. + + There are no roses in the garden now, + But Memory's garden grows each day more fair; + Sun, moon, and stars her orchard close endow, + And there bloom roses--roses everywhere. + + ROSAMUND MARRIOTT WATSON + + +BALLADE OF THE DREAMLAND ROSE + + Where the waves of burning cloud are rolled + On the further shore of the sunset sea, + In a land of wonder that none behold, + There blooms a rose on the Dreamland Tree + That stands in the Garden of Mystery + Where the River of Slumber softly flows; + And whenever a dream has come to be, + A petal falls from the Dreamland Rose. + + In the heart of the tree, on a branch of gold, + A silvern bird sings endlessly + A mystic song that is ages old, + A mournful song in a minor key, + Full of the glamour of faery; + And whenever a dreamer's ears unclose + To the sound of that distant melody, + A petal falls from the Dreamland Rose. + + Dreams and visions in hosts untold + Throng around on the moonlit lea: + Dreams of age that are calm and cold, + Dreams of youth that are fair and free-- + Dark with a lone heart's agony, + Bright with a hope that no one knows-- + And whenever a dream and a dream agree, + A petal falls from the Dreamland Rose. + + ENVOI + + Princess, you gaze in a reverie + Where the drowsy firelight redly glows; + Slowly you raise your eyes to me ... + A petal falls from the Dreamland Rose. + + BRIAN HOOKER + + +THE FLOWERS OF JUNE + + These flowers of June + The gates of memory unbar; + These flowers of June + Such old-time harmonies retune, + I fain would keep the gates ajar, + So full of sweet enchantment are + These flowers of June. + + Was it the bloom of the laurel sprays, + That wakened remembrance of singing birds? + Or, was it the charm of remembered words, + That set my heart singing through somber days? + I longed for the summer-time, flower and tree; + And lo! the summer-time came with thee. + The bloom is no more, but the charm still stays. + + JAMES TERRY WHITE + + +IN MEMORY'S GARDEN + + There is a garden in the twilight lands + Of Memory, where troops of butterflies + Flutter adown the cypress paths, and bands + Of flowers mysterious droop their drowsy eyes. + + There through the silken hush come footfalls faint + And hurried through the vague parterres, and sighs + Whispering of rapture or of sweet complaint + Like ceaseless parle of bees and butterflies. + + And by one lonely pathway steal I soon + To find the flowerings of the old delight + Our hearts together knew--when lo, the moon + Turns all the cypress alleys into white. + + THOMAS WALSH + + +SERENADE + + Dark is the iris meadow, + Dark is the ivory tower, + And lightly the young moth's shadow + Sleeps on the passion-flower. + + Gone are our day's red roses. + So lovely and lost and few, + But the first star uncloses + A silver bud in the blue. + + Night, and a flame in the embers + Where the seal of the years was set,-- + When the almond-bough remembers + How shall my heart forget? + + MARJORIE L. C. PICKTHALL + + +"WHAT HEART BUT FEARS A FRAGRANCE?" + + What heart but fears a fragrance? + Alien they + Who breathe in the white lilac only May; + For there be other spirits unto whom + Fate's kiss lies dreaming in each stray perfume! + + Who mock at ghosts of odour--poor they be! + Bereft the scented balms of memory, + For unto one in April's rain-blest earth + There starts for aye the sharp, glad cry of birth; + And Love will find in rooms unbarred for years + Familiar sweetness loosing sudden tears, + Clasping the will in mastering embrace + As in the presence of a phantom grace. + + Then there be odours pungent--fires in Fall + The gipsying of boyhood to recall; + And there be perfumes holy--nay, but one + Whose pang is like none other 'neath the sun + To drown the sinking senses in a joy + Beyond all time to weaken or destroy! + Odours there be that swoon, entreat, caress-- + Elusive thrall, to doom or stab or bless; + Each vagrant scent that holds the breath in fee + Doth wed the heart in Life's eternity. + + Who fear no wraiths of fragrance--sorry they; + Who breathe in lilac odours only May; + For there be other mortals unto whom + White magic wanders in each stray perfume. + + MARTHA GILBERT DICKINSON BIANCHI + + +YEARS AFTERWARD + + It is not sight or sound + That, when a heart forgets, + Most makes it to remember: + It's some old poignant scent re-found-- + Like breath of April violets, + Or apples of September. + + It isn't song or scene + That stirs the tears again: + It's brush smoke from the hills at night, + Spicy and sweet; or that wet, keen, + Long lost aroma of delight, + Fresh ploughed fields after rain. + + NANCY BYRD TURNER + + +AUTUMNAL + + Across the scented garden of my dreams + Where roses grew, Time passes like a thief, + Among my trees his silver sickle gleams, + The grass is stained with many a ruddy leaf; + And on cold winds the petals float away + That were the pride of June and her array. + + The bare boughs weave a net upon the sky + To catch Love's wings and his fair body bruise; + There are no flowers in the rosary-- + No song-birds in the mournful avenues; + Though on the sodden air not lightly breaks + The elegy of Youth, whom love forsakes. + + Ah, Time! one flower of all my garden spare, + One rose of all the roses, that in this + I may possess my love's perfumed hair + And all the crimson secrets of her kiss. + Grant me one rose that I may drink its wine, + And from her lips win the last anodyne. + + For I have learnt too many things to live, + And I have loved too many things to die; + But all my barren acres I would give + For one red blossom of eternity, + To animate the darkness and delight + The spaces and the silences of night. + + But dreams are tender flowers that in their birth + Are very near to death, and I shall reap, + Who planted wonder, unavailing earth, + Harsh thorns and miserable husks of sleep. + I have had dreams, but have not conquered Time, + And love shall vanish like an empty rhyme. + + RICHARD MIDDLETON + + +"OH, TELL ME HOW MY GARDEN GROWS" + + Oh, tell me how my garden grows, + Now I no more may labor there; + Do still the lily and the rose + Bloom on without my fostering care? + + Do peonies blush as deep with pride, + The larkspurs burn as bright a blue, + And velvet pansies stare as wide + I wonder, as they used to do? + + The tender things that would not blow + Unless I coaxed them, do they raise + Their petals in a sturdy row, + Forgetful, to the stranger's gaze? + + Or do they show a paler shade, + And sigh a little in the wind + For one whose sheltering presence made + Their step-dame Nature less unkind? + + Oh, tell me how my garden grows, + Where I no more may take delight, + And if some dream of me it knows, + Who dream of it by day and night. + + MILDRED HOWELLS + + +HER GARDEN + + This was her dearest walk last year. Her hands + Set all the tiny plants, and tenderly + Pressed firm the unfamiliar soil; and she + It was who watered them at evening time. + She loved them; and I too, because of her. + And now another June has come, while I + Am walking in the shadow, sad, alone. + Yet when I reach the rose-path that was hers, + And breathe the fragrancy of bud and bloom, + She stands beside; the murmur of the leaves, + The well-remembered rustle of her gown, + And low her whisper comes, "My dear! My dear!" + This is her garden. Only she and I-- + But always we--may walk its hallowed ways; + And all the thoughts she planted in my heart, + Sunned with her smile, and chastened with her tears, + Again have blossomed--love's perennials. + + ELDREDGE DENISON + + +THE LITTLE GHOST + + I knew her for a little ghost + That in my garden walked,-- + The wall is high--higher than most-- + And the green gate was locked; + + And yet I did not think of that + Till after she was gone; + I knew her by the broad white hat, + All ruffled, she had on, + + By the dear ruffles round her feet, + By her small hands, that hung + In their lace mitts, austere and sweet, + Her gown's white folds among. + + I watched to see if she would stay, + What she would do,--and, oh, + She looked as if she liked the way + I let my garden grow! + + She bent above my favorite mint + With conscious garden grace, + She smiled and smiled,--there was no hint + Of sadness in her face; + + She held her gown on either side, + To let her slippers show, + And up the walk she went with pride, + The way great ladies go; + + And where the wall is built in new, + And is of ivy bare, + She paused,--then opened and passed through + A gate that once was there. + + EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY + + +ROSES IN THE SUBWAY + + A wan-cheeked girl with faded eyes + Came stumbling down the crowded car, + Clutching her burden to her breast + As though she held a star. + + Roses, I swear it! Red and sweet + And struggling from her pinched white hands, + Roses ... like captured hostages + From far and fairy lands! + + The thunder of the rushing train + Was like a hush.... The flower scent + Breathed faintly on the stale, whirled air + Like some dim sacrament-- + + I saw a garden stretching out + And morning on it like a crown-- + And o'er a bed of crimson bloom + My mother ... stooping down. + + DANA BURNET + + + + + THE GARDEN OVER-SEAS + + +A GARDEN PRAYER + + _That we are mortals and on earth must dwell + Thou knowest, Allah, and didst give us bread-- + And remembering of our souls didst give us food of flowers-- + Thy name be hallowed._ + + THOMAS WALSH + + +IN THE GARDEN-CLOSE AT MEZRA + + In the garden-close at Mezra, + When the cactus was in flower, + We sat apart together + Through the languid noonday hour. + + I was her Arab lover, + (Of course it was all in play!) + And I called her "Star-of-Twilight," + And I called her "Dream-of-Day." + + She--has she quite forgotten? + Soothly, I do not know + If ever she tenderly opens + The volume of Long Ago. + + But I--I can still remember + Her lips like the cactus flower + In the garden-close at Mezra + At the languid noonday hour! + + CLINTON SCOLLARD + + +THE CACTUS + + The scarlet flower, with never a sister-leaf, + Stemless, springs from the edge of the Cactus-thorn: + Thus from the rugged wounds of desperate grief + A beautiful Thought, perfect and pure, is born. + + LAURENCE HOPE + + +THE WHITE PEACOCK + + Here where the sunlight + Floodeth the garden, + Where the pomegranate + Reareth its glory + Of gorgeous blossom; + Where the oleanders + Dream through the noontides; + And, like surf o' the sea + Round cliffs of basalt, + The thick magnolias + In billowy masses + Front the sombre green of the ilexes: + Here where the heat lies + Pale blue in the hollows, + Where blue are the shadows + On the fronds of the cactus, + Where pale blue the gleaming + Of fir and cypress, + With the cones upon them + Amber or glowing with virgin gold: + Here where the honey-flower + Makes the heat fragrant, + As though from the gardens + Of Gulistan, + Where the bulbul singeth + Through a mist of roses + A breath were borne: + Here where the dream-flowers, + The cream-white poppies + Silently waver, + And where the Scirocco, + Faint in the hollows, + Foldeth his soft white wings in the sunlight, + And lieth sleeping + Deep in the heart of + A sea of white violets: + Here, as the breath, as the soul of this beauty, + Moveth in silence, and dreamlike, and slowly, + White as a snow-drift in mountain-valleys + When softly upon it the gold light lingers: + White as the foam o' the sea that is driven + O'er billows of azure agleam with sun-yellow: + Cream-white and soft as the breasts of a girl, + Moves the White Peacock, as though through the noontide + A dream of the moonlight were real for a moment. + Dim on the beautiful fan that he spreadeth, + Foldeth and spreadeth abroad in the sunlight, + Dim on the cream-white are blue adumbrations, + Shadows so pale in their delicate blueness + That visions they seem as of vanishing violets, + The fragrant white violets veined with azure, + Pale, pale as the breath of blue smoke in far woodlands. + Here, as the breath, as the soul of this beauty, + White as the cloud through the heats of the noontide + Moves the White Peacock. + + WILLIAM SHARP + + +AT ISOLA BELLA + + Once at Isola Bella, + With sunset in the sky, + We stood on the topmost terrace-- + You and I. + + Around us Lago Maggiore, + Incomparably fair, + Gave back the hues of heaven + To the Italian air. + + Then up the marble terrace + Below the cypress trees + Came a flock of milk-white peacocks + With fans spread to the breeze. + + Rose-pink on each outspread feather, + Rose-pink upon the crest,-- + Never were birds in plumage + So ravishingly drest! + + Wherever we walked they followed, + Stately at our feet, + No picture so enchanting + Will any hour repeat. + + And here in the murky city + Those milk-white peacocks seem + To follow and follow me ever + Like ghosts of a haunting dream. + + JESSIE B. RITTENHOUSE + + +THE FOUNTAIN + + All through the deep blue night + The fountain sang alone; + It sang to the drowsy heart + Of the satyr carved in stone. + + The fountain sang and sang + But the satyr never stirred-- + Only the great white moon + In the empty heaven heard. + + The fountain sang and sang + While on the marble rim + The milk-white peacocks slept, + And their dreams were strange and dim. + + Bright dew was on the grass, + And on the ilex, dew, + The dreamy milk-white birds + Were all a-glisten, too. + + The fountain sang and sang + The things one cannot tell; + The dreaming peacocks stirred + And the gleaming dew-drops fell. + + SARA TEASDALE + + +THE CHAMPA FLOWER + +Supposing I became a champa flower, just for fun, and grew on a branch +high up that tree, and shook in the wind with laughter and danced upon +the newly budded leaves, would you know me, mother? + +You would call, "Baby, where are you?" and I should laugh to myself and +keep quite quiet. + +I should slyly open my petals and watch you at your work. + +When after your bath, with wet hair spread on your shoulders, you walked +through the shadow of the champa tree to the little court where you say +your prayers, you would notice the scent of the flower, but not know +that it came from me. + +When after the midday meal you sat at the window reading _Ramayana_, and +the tree's shadow fell over your hair and your lap, I should fling my +wee little shadow on to the page of your book, just where you were +reading. + +But would you guess that it was the tiny shadow of your little child? + +When in the evening you went to the cow-shed with the lighted lamp in +your hand, I should suddenly drop on to the earth again and be your own +baby once more, and beg you to tell me a story. + +"Where have you been, you naughty child?" + +"I won't tell you, mother." That's what you and I would say then. + + RABINDRANATH TAGORE + + +IN AN EGYPTIAN GARDEN + + Can it be winter otherwhere? + Forsooth, it seems not so! + The moonlight on the garden square + Must be the only snow, + For all about me, fragrant fair, + The blooms of summer blow. + + Wine-lipped and beautiful and bland, + The rose displays its dower; + The heavy-scented citron and + The stainless lily-tower; + And whiter than a houri's hand, + El Ful, the Arab flower. + + In purple silhouette a palm + Lifts from a vine-wreathed plinth + Against a sky whose cloudless calm + Is hued like hyacinth; + And echoes with a bulbul's psalm + The jasmine labyrinth. + + In life's tumultuous ocean swell + Here is a charmed isle; + I hear a late muezzin tell + His holy tale the while, + And like the faint notes of a bell + The boat-songs of old Nile. + + Across my spirit thrills no theme + That is not marvel-bright; + I see within the lotus gleam + The nectar of delight, + And, tasting it, I drift and dream + Adown the glamoured night! + + CLINTON SCOLLARD + + +EVENING IN OLD JAPAN + + Peaceful and mellow looks the sky to-night + As some great Buddha made of ivory, + Upon whose brow is set a moonstone white, + The shining emblem of its purity. + + A dim blue haze like incense, rising high, + Merges together mountain, tree, and stream; + But over all still broods an ivory sky + Cloudless as Buddha's face, one gem agleam. + + ANTOINETTE DE COURSEY PATTERSON + + +REFLECTIONS + + When I looked into your eyes, + I saw a garden + With peonies, and tinkling pagodas, + And round-arched bridges + Over still lakes. + + A woman sat beside the water + In a rain-blue, silken garment. + She reached through the water + To pluck the crimson peonies + Beneath the surface. + + But as she grasped the stems, + They jarred and broke into white-green ripples. + And as she drew out her hand, + The water drops dripping from it + Stained her rain-blue dress like tears. + + AMY LOWELL + + +IN THE GARDEN + + Do you remember, Sister, + The golden afternoon + When we looked upon the lotus + And listened to the croon + Of the doves that sat together + Among the flowers of June? + + And deep among the valleys + A far, sweet sound was heard-- + Some fluter in the forest + That like a magic bird + Sang of the unseen heavens + And mystic Way and Word. + + PAI TA-SHUN + + +THE DESERTED GARDEN + + I hear no more the swish of silks + Along the marble walks; + The autumn wind blows sharp and cold + Among the flowerless stalks. + + In place of petals of the peach + Fast drifts the yellow leaf; + And looking in the lotus-pond + I see one face of grief. + + PAI TA-SHUN + + +A ROMAN GARDEN + + All night above that garden the rose-flushed moon will sail, + Making the darkness deeper where hides the nightingale. + Below the Sabine mountain + The tossed and slender fountain + Will curve, a lily pale; + And where the plumed pine soars tallest, + 'Tis there, O nightingale, thou callest; + Where the loud water leaps the highest. + 'Tis there, O nightingale, thou criest; + In the dripping luscious dark, + Hark, oh, hark! + Wonderful, delirious, + Soul of joy mysterious. + + A garden full of fragrances, + Of pauses and of cadences, + Whence come they all? + Of cypresses and ilex-trees, + Plumes and dark candles like to these + Were long ago Persephone's. + + All night within that garden + The glimmering gods of stone, + The satyrs and the naiads + Will laugh to be alone, + In starless courts of shadows + By silence overgrown, + Save for the nightingale's + Wild lyric thither blown. + + By pools and dusky closes + Dim shapes will move about, + Twirled wands and masks and faces, + Dancers and wreaths of roses, + The moonlight's trick, no doubt. + A naked nymph upon the stair, + A sculptured vine that clasps the air,-- + And then one Bacchic bird somewhere + Will pour his passion out. + All night above that garden the rose-flushed moon will sail, + Making the darkness deeper where hides the nightingale. + + Down yonder velvet alley, + Floats Daphne like a feather, + A finger bidding silence, + The dark and she together. + Look, where the secret fount is misting. + Apollo, thou shalt have thy trysting: + For where a ruined sphinx lay smiling + The wood-girl waits thee, white, beguiling. + All night above that garden the rose-flushed moon will sail, + Making the darkness deeper where hides the nightingale. + + FLORENCE WILKINSON EVANS + + +COMO IN APRIL + + The wind is Winter, though the sun be Spring: + The icy rills have scarce begun to flow; + The birds unconfidently fly and sing. + + As on the land once fell the northern foe, + The hostile mountains from the passes fling + Their vandal blasts upon the lake below. + + Not yet the round clouds of the Maytime cling + Above the world's blue wonder's curving show, + And tempt to linger with their lingering. + + Yet doth each slope a vernal promise know: + See, mounting yonder, white as angel's wing. + A snow of bloom to meet the bloom of snow. + + * * * * * + + Love, need we more than our imagining + To make the whole year May? What though + The wind be Winter if the heart be Spring? + + ROBERT UNDERWOOD JOHNSON + + +AN EXILE'S GARDEN + + I live in the heart of a garden + With cypresses all about; + To the east and west, and the south and north, + Straight shadowy paths run out. + + There are ancient gods in my garden; + They have faces young and pale; + And a hundred thousand roses here + Enrapture the nightingale. + + Yet, among the gods of the garden, + The roses and gods, I think, + Daylong, of a far-off clover field, + And the song of a bob-o-link. + + SOPHIE JEWETT + + +THE CLOISTER GARDEN AT CERTOSA + + It is a place monastic, set above + The city's pride and pleasuring below; + The benediction of the sky breathes love + Over the olive trees and vines a-row. + + The old gray walls are delicate to prayer + And silence; in the corridors dim-lit + Lurks many a painting, many a fresco rare + Done by some brother for the joy of it. + + Pale lavender and red pomegranate trees, + Roses and poppies spilling garden sweets; + And tall lush grass and grain, and, circling these, + The cool of cloistral walks and shadowed seats. + + By a sun-dial in the center, rests + One brown-robed Father; and his lips recite + Some holy word; little he heeds the jests + Of those who make the world their chief delight. + + While Florence, far below, from dreamy towers + Throws back the sun and tolls the tranquil hours. + + RICHARD BURTON + + +A GARDEN IN VENICE + + There is a garden in a vineyard set + Beneath the spell of Adriatic skies; + A lovely place of dreams and ecstasies, + Of color tangled in a verdant net, + The shimmer of the low lagoon whose fret + Washes the garden's length, and rose that vies + With rose, pomegranate and tall flowers that rise + Above their fellows in one glory met. + And there I think in the still summer night, + When all the world is sleeping save the moon + And the blest nightingale who shuns the noon, + The closed flowers open out of sheer delight + And the white lilies bow their slender stalks, + For thro' them, 'neath the vines Madonna walks. + + DOROTHY FRANCES GURNEY + + +IN A GARDEN OF GRANADA + + The city rumour rises all the day + Across the potted plants along the wall; + The sun and winds upon the slopes hold sway, + Tossing the dust and shadows in a squall. + + The sun is old and weary--weary here + Upon the ageing roofs and miradors, + The broken terraces and basins drear + Where each old bell its ancient echoes pours. + + Ringing--what memories to ring--to those + That linger here--the lizard and the cat, + That haunt these solitudes in state morose + Through the long day their silent habitat. + + Untroubled,--save when in the moonlight steals + Some voice in song across the lower wall, + And sudden magic each old rafter feels, + The while the echoes round it rise and fall. + + For as the wail of love or sorrow rings + Along the night soft steps are on the stair + And pathway; in the broken window wings + Are stirring, and white arms are lolling there. + + And that old rose tree lifts its head anew, + And there is perfume o'er the hills afar, + From where Alhambra's crescent cleaves the blue + To where agleam Genil and Darro are. + + O Voice!--what is thy necromantic word + That all Granada waits adown the years? + Is it the sound some love-swept night has heard?-- + The cry of love amid the cry of tears?-- + + THOMAS WALSH + + +AMIEL'S GARDEN + + His Garden! His bright candelabra trees + En fete. His lilacs steeped in joy! His sky + Limpid and blue! The same flecked shadows lie + Athwart this path he paced. His reveries + Float in the air. His moods, his ecstasies + Still linger charmed. Pale butterflies flit by-- + Were one his soul it had not found on high + Banquet more choice than those infinities + He daily knew. And now no one to hear + The hovering hours, the singing grass, to feel + The wrinkles of the soul smooth out, to see + God's shadow bend down from eternity-- + His garden empty! Yet I gently steal + Lest I disturb his dreams still smiling near. + + GERTRUDE HUNTINGTON MCGIFFERT + + +EDEN-HUNGER + + O that a nest, my mate! were once more ours, + Where we, by vain and barren change untutored, + Could have grave friendships with wise trees and flowers, + And live the great, green life of field and orchard! + + From the cold birthday of the daffodils, + E'en to that listening pause that is November, + O to confide in woods, confer with hills, + And then--then, to that palmland you remember, + + Fly swift, where seas that brook not Winter's rule + Are one vast violet breaking into lilies; + There where we spent our first strange wedded Yule, + In the far, golden, fire-hearted Antilles. + + WILLIAM WATSON + + +THE GARDEN AT BEMERTON + +FOR A FLYLEAF OF HERBERT'S POEMS + + Year after year, from dusk to dusk, + How sweet this English garden grows, + Steeped in two centuries' sun and musk, + Walled from the world in gray repose, + Harbor of honey-freighted bees, + And wealthy with the rose. + + Here pinks with spices in their throats + Nod by the bitter marigold; + Here nightingales with haunting notes, + When west and east with stars are bold, + From out the twisted hawthorn-trees, + Sing back the weathers old. + + All tuneful winds do down it pass; + The leaves a sudden whiteness show, + And delicate noises fill the grass; + The only flakes its spaces know + Are petals blown off briers long, + And heaped on blades below. + + Ah! dawn and dusk, year after year, + 'Tis more than these that keeps it rare! + We see the saintly Master here, + Pacing along the alleys fair, + And catch the throbbing of a song + Across the amber air! + + LIZETTE WOODWORTH REESE + + +IN AN OXFORD GARDEN + + As one whose road winds upward turns his face + Unto the valleys where he late hath stood, + Leaning upon his staff in peace to brood + On many a beauty of the distant place, + So I in this cool garden pause a space, + Reviewing many things in many a mood, + Accumulating friends in solitude + From the assembly of my thoughts and days. + + ARTHUR UPSON + + + + + THE HOMELY GARDEN + + +"GRANDMOTHER'S GATHERING BONESET" + + _Grandmother's gathering boneset to-day; + In the garret she'll dry and hang it away. + Next winter I'll "need" some boneset tea-- + I wish she wouldn't think always of me!_ + + EDITH M. THOMAS + + +A BREATH OF MINT + + What small leaf-fingers veined with emerald light + Lay on my heart that touch of elfin might? + + What spirals of sharp perfume do they fling, + To blur my page with swift remembering? + + Borne in a country basket marketward, + Their message is a music spirit-heard, + + A pebble-hindered lilt and gurgle and run + Of tawny singing water in the sun. + + Their coolness brings that ecstasy I knew + Down by the mint-fringed brook that wandered through + + My mellow meadows set with linden-trees + Loud with the summer jargon of the bees. + + Their magic has its way with me until + I see the storm's dark wing shadow the hill + + As once I saw: and draw sharp breath again, + To feel their arrowy fragrance pierce the rain. + + O sudden urging sweetness in the air, + Exhaled, diffused about me everywhere, + + Yours is the subtlest word the summer saith, + And vanished summers sigh upon your breath. + + GRACE HAZARD CONKLING + + +A SELLER OF HERBS + + Black, comely, of abiding cheer, + Three times a week she fares, + Townward from gabled Windermere, + To sell her dainty wares. + + Green balms she brings from winding lanes, + And some in handfuls tall, + Of the old days of Annes and Janes, + Grown by a kitchen wall. + + Keen mint has she in dewy sprigs, + With spears of violet; + And the spiced bloom of elder-twigs + In a field's hollow set. + + My snatch of May I get from her, + In white buds off a tree; + June in one whiff of lavender, + That breaks my heart for me. + + The swaying boughs of Windermere, + Each gust that takes the grass, + High over the town roar I hear, + When that old stall I pass. + + What homely memories are mine, + At sight of her quaint stalks; + Of grave dusks mellowing like wine + Down long, box-bordered walks; + + Of garret windows eastward thrust, + Of rafters shining dim, + And heaped with herbs as gray as dust + All scented to the brim. + + This lady of the market-place, + Three times a week and more, + I pray her seasons thick with grace; + And ever at her door, + + Shut from the road by wall of stone, + And ample cherry trees, + A garden fair as Herrick's own, + And just as full of bees! + + LIZETTE WOODWORTH REESE + + +LAVENDER + + Gray walls that lichen stains, + That take the sun and the rains, + Old, stately, and wise: + Clipt yews, old lawns flag-bordered, + In ancient ways yet ordered; + South walks where the loud bee plies + Daylong till Summer flies-- + Here grows Lavender, here breathes England. + + Gay cottage gardens, glad, + Comely, unkempt, and mad, + Jumbled, jolly, and quaint; + Nooks where some old man dozes; + Currants and beans and roses + Mingling without restraint; + A wicket that long lacks paint-- + Here grows Lavender, here breathes England. + + Sprawling for elbow-room, + Spearing straight spikes of bloom, + Clean, wayward, and tough; + Sweet and tall and slender, + True, enduring, and tender, + Buoyant and bold and bluff, + Simplest, sanest of stuff-- + Thus grows Lavender, thence breathes England. + + W. W. BLAIR FISH + + +DAWN IN MY GARDEN + + I went into my garden at break of Delight, + Before Joy had risen in the Eastern sky, + To see how many cucumbers had happened over night, + And how much higher stood the corn that yesterday was high. + + I went into my garden when Rest had fallen away + From the tops of blue hills, from the valleys gold and green, + To see how far the beans had travelled up into the day, + And whether all my lettuces were glad and cool and clean. + + I went into my garden when Mirth was laughing low + Through the sharp-scented leaves of the lush tomato vines, + Through the long blue-grey leaves of the turnips in a row, + Where early in the every day the dew shakes and shines. + + Oh, Rest had slipped away from the valleys green and gold, + From the tops of blue hills that were silent all the night, + But the big, round Joy was rising, busy and bold, + When I went into my garden at break of Delight! + + MARGUERITE WILKINSON + + +THE PROUD VEGETABLES + + In a funny little garden not much bigger than a mat, + There lived a thriving family, its members all were fat; + But some were short, and some were tall, and some were almost round, + And some ran high on bamboo poles, and some lay on the ground. + + Of these old Father Pumpkin was, perhaps, the proudest one. + He claimed to trace his family vine directly from the sun. + "We both are round and yellow, we both are bright," said he, + "A stronger family likeness one could scarcely wish to see." + + Old Mrs. Squash hung on the fence; she had a crooked neck, + Perhaps 'twas hanging made it so,--her nerves were quite a wreck. + Near by, upon a planted row of faggots, dry and lean, + The young cucumbers climbed to swing their Indian clubs of green. + + A big white _daikon_ hid in earth beneath his leafy crest; + And mole-like sweet potatoes crept around his quiet nest. + Above were growing pearly pease, and beans of many kinds + With pods like tiny castanets to mock the summer winds. + + There, in a spot that feels the sun, the swarthy egg-plant weaves + Great webs of frosted tapestry and hangs them out for leaves. + Its funny azure blossoms give a merry, shrivelled wink, + And lifting up the leaves display great drops of purple ink. + + Now, life went on in harmony and pleasing indolence + Till Mrs. Squash had vertigo and tumbled off the fence; + But not to earth she fell! Alas,--but down, with all her force, + Upon old Father Pumpkin's head, and cracked his skull, of course. + + At this a fearful din arose. The pods began to split, + Cucumbers turned a sickly hue, the _daikon_ had a fit, + The sweet potatoes rent the ground,--the egg-plant dropped his loom, + While every polished berry seemed to gain an added gloom. + + And, worst of all, there came a man, who once had planted them. + He dug that little family up by root and leaf and stem, + He piled them high in baskets, in a most unfeeling way-- + All this was told me by the cook,--we ate the last to-day. + + MARY MCNEIL FENOLLOSA + + +THE CHOICE + + When skies are blue and days are bright + A kitchen-garden's my delight, + Set round with rows of decent box + And blowsy girls of hollyhocks. + + Before the lark his Lauds hath done + And ere the corncrake's southward gone; + Before the thrush good-night hath said + And the young Summer's put to bed. + + The currant-bushes' spicy smell, + Homely and honest, likes me well, + The while on strawberries I feast, + And raspberries the sun hath kissed. + + Beans all a-blowing by a row + Of hives that great with honey go, + With mignonette and heaths to yield + The plundering bee his honey-field. + + Sweet herbs in plenty, blue borage + And the delicious mint and sage, + Rosemary, marjoram, and rue, + And thyme to scent the winter through. + + Here are small apples growing round, + And apricots all golden-gowned, + And plums that presently will flush + And show their bush a Burning Bush. + + Cherries in nets against the wall, + Where Master Thrush his madrigal + Sings, and makes oath a churl is he + Who grudges cherries for a fee. + + Lavender, sweet-briar, orris. Here + Shall Beauty make her pomander, + Her sweet-balls for to lay in clothes + That wrap her as the leaves the rose. + + Take roses red and lilies white, + A kitchen-garden's my delight; + Its gillyflowers and phlox and cloves, + And its tall cote of irised doves. + + KATHARINE TYNAN + + +THOUGHTS FER THE DISCURAGED FARMER + + The summer winds is sniffin' round the bloomin' locus' trees; + And the clover in the pastur' is a big day fer the bees, + And they been a-swiggin' honey, above board and on the sly, + Tel they stutter in theyr buzzin' and stagger as they fly. + The flicker on the fence-rail 'pears to jest spit on his wings + And roll up his feathers, by the sassy way he sings; + And the hoss-fly is a-whettin'-up his forelegs fer biz, + And the off-mare is a-switchin' all of her tail they is. + + You can hear the blackbirds jawin' as they foller up the plow-- + Oh, theyr bound to git theyr brekfast, and theyr not a carin' how; + So they quarrel in the furries, and they quarrel on the wing-- + But theyr peaceabler in pot-pies than any other thing: + And it's when I git my shotgun drawed up in stiddy rest, + She's as full of tribbelation as a yeller-jacket's nest; + And a few shots before dinner, when the sun's a-shinin' right, + Seems to kindo'-sorto' sharpen up a feller's appetite! + + They's been a heap o' rain, but the sun's out to-day, + And the clouds of the wet spell is all cleared away, + And the woods is all the greener, and the grass is greener still; + It may rain again to-morry, but I don't think it will. + Some says the crops is ruined, and the corn's drownded out, + And propha-sy the wheat will be a failure, without doubt; + But the kind Providence that has never failed us yet, + Will be on hand onc't more at the 'leventh hour, I bet! + + Does the medder-lark complain, as he swims high and dry + Through the waves of the wind and the blue of the sky? + Does the quail set up and whissel in a disappointed way, + Er hang his head in silence, and sorrow all the day? + Is the chipmuck's health a-failin'?--Does he walk, er does he run? + Don't the buzzards ooze around up thare jest like they've allus done? + Is they anything the matter with the rooster's lungs er voice? + Ort a mortul be complainin' when dumb animals rejoice? + + Then let us, one and all, be contented with our lot; + The June is here this morning, and the sun is shining hot. + Oh! let us fill our harts up with the glory of the day, + And banish ev'ry doubt and care and sorrow fur away! + Whatever be our station, with Providence fer guide, + Sich fine circumstances ort to make us satisfied; + Fer the world is full of roses, and the roses full of dew, + And the dew is full of heavenly love that drips fer me and you. + + JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY + + +GRACE FOR GARDENS + + Lord God in Paradise, + Look upon our sowing, + Bless the little gardens + And the good green growing! + Give us sun, + Give us rain, + Bless the orchards + And the grain! + + Lord God in Paradise, + Please bless the beans and peas, + Give us corn full on the ear-- + We will praise Thee, Lord, for these! + Bless the blossom + And the root, + Bless the seed + And the fruit! + + Lord God in Paradise, + Over my brown field is seen, + Trembling and adventuring. + A miracle of green. + Send such grace + As you know, + To keep it safe + And make it grow! + + Lord God in Paradise, + For the wonder of the seed, + Wondering, we praise you, while + We tell you of our need. + Look down from Paradise, + Look upon our sowing, + Bless the little gardens + And the good green growing! + Give us sun, + Give us rain, + Bless the orchards + And the grain! + + LOUISE DRISCOLL + + + + + SILVER BELLS AND COCKLE SHELLS + + +PLANTING + + _The sky is blue and soft to-day, + The grass is green this month of May, + And Muvver with her spade and rake + My little garden helps me make; + For every one must plant more seeds + To grow the food that each one needs: + Potatoes, corn, green peas, and beets, + The kind of beans that sister eats, + We plant in rows marked by a string, + For neatness is the one great thing; + The earth is then raked smooth and pressed + And Nature 'tends to all the rest._ + + ROBERT LIVINGSTON + + +SPRING PATCHWORK + + If I could patch a coverlet + From pieces of the Spring, + What dreams a happy child would have + Beneath so fair a thing! + + A center of the dear blue sky, + A bordering of green, + With patches of the yellow sun + All chequered in between. + + Bright ribbons of the silky grass + Laced prettily across, + With satin of new little leaves, + And velvet of the moss. + + In every corner, violets, + Half-hidden from the view, + With many-flowered squares betwixt, + Of pinky tints and blue; + + Of flossy silk and gossamer, + Of tissue and brocade; + A warp of rosy morning mist, + A woof of purple shade. + + Embroideries of little vines, + And spider-webs of lace, + With tassels of the alder tied + At each convenient place. + + With gold-thread I would sew the seams, + And needles of the pine, + Oh, never child in all the world + Would have a quilt like mine! + + ABBIE FARWELL BROWN + + +BABY'S VALENTINE + + Valentine, O Valentine, + Pretty little Love of mine; + Little Love whose yellow hair + Makes the daffodils despair; + Little Love whose shining eyes + Fill the stars with sad surprise: + Hither turn your ten wee toes, + Each a tiny shut-up rose, + End most fitting and complete + For the rosy-pinky feet; + Toddle, toddle here to me, + For I'm waiting, do you see?-- + Waiting for to call you mine, + Valentine, O Valentine! + + Valentine, O Valentine, + I will dress you up so fine! + Here's a frock of tulip-leaves, + Trimmed with lace the spider weaves; + Here's a cap of larkspur blue, + Just precisely made for you; + Here's a mantle scarlet-dyed, + Once the tiger-lily's pride, + Spotted all with velvet black + Like the fire-beetle's back; + Lady-slippers on your feet, + Now behold you all complete! + Come and let me call you mine, + Valentine, O Valentine! + + Valentine, O Valentine, + Now a wreath for you I'll twine. + I will set you on a throne + Where the damask rose has blown, + Dropping all her velvet bloom, + Carpeting your leafy room: + Here while you shall sit in pride, + Butterflies all rainbow-pied, + Dandy beetles gold and green, + Creeping, flying, shall be seen, + Every bird that shakes his wings, + Every katydid that sings, + Wasp and bee with buzz and hum. + Hither, hither see them come, + Creeping all before your feet, + Rendering their homage meet. + But 'tis I that call you mine, + Valentine, O Valentine! + + LAURA E. RICHARDS + + +BABY SEED SONG + + Little brown brother, oh! little brown brother, + Are you awake in the dark? + Here we lie cosily, close to each other: + Hark to the song of the lark-- + "Waken!" the lark says, "waken and dress you; + Put on your green coats and gay, + Blue sky will shine on you, sunshine caress you-- + Waken! 'tis morning--'tis May!" + + Little brown brother, oh! little brown brother, + What kind of flower will you be? + I'll be a poppy--all white, like my mother; + Do be a poppy like me. + What! you're a sun-flower? How I shall miss you + When you're grown golden and high! + But I shall send all the bees up to kiss you; + Little brown brother, good-bye. + + E. NESBIT + + +RAIN IN THE NIGHT + + Raining, raining, + All night long; + Sometimes loud, sometimes soft, + Just like a song. + + There'll be rivers in the gutters + And lakes along the street. + It will make our lazy kitty + Wash his little dirty feet. + + The roses will wear diamonds + Like kings and queens at court; + But the pansies all get muddy + Because they are so short. + + I'll sail my boat to-morrow + In wonderful new places, + But first I'll take my watering-pot + And wash the pansies' faces. + + AMELIA JOSEPHINE BURR + + +A LITTLE GIRL'S SONGS + +I + +SPRING SONG + + I love daffodils. + I love Narcissus when he bends his head. + I can hardly keep March and spring and Sunday and daffodils + Out of my rhyme of song. + Do you know anything about the spring + When it comes again? + God knows about it while winter is lasting: + Flowers bring him power in the spring, + And birds bring it, and children. + He is sometimes sad and alone + Up there in the sky trying to keep his worlds happy. + I bring him songs when he is in his sadness, and weary. + I tell him how I used to wander out to study stars and the moon he + made + And flowers in the dark of the wood. + I keep reminding him about his flowers he has forgotten, + And that snowdrops are up. + What can I say to make him listen? + "God," I say, + "Don't you care! + Nobody must be sad or sorry + In the spring-time of flowers." + +II + +VELVETS + +_By a Bed of Pansies_ + + This pansy has a thinking face + Like the yellow moon. + This one has a face with white blots: + I call him the clown. + Here goes one down the grass + With a pretty look of plumpness: + She is a little girl going to school + With her hands in the pockets of her pinafore. + Her name is Sue. + I like this one, in a bonnet, + Waiting-- + Her eyes are so deep! + But these on the other side, + These that wear purple and blue, + They are the Velvets, + The king with his cloak, + The queen with her gown, + The prince with his feather. + These are dark and quiet + And stay alone. + + _I know you, Velvets + Color of Dark, + Like the pine-tree on the hill + When stars shine!_ + + HILDA CONKLING + (_Six years old_) + + +WHEN SWALLOWS BUILD + + When apple-blossom time doth come + And with their scent the air is filled, + And fields are full of buttercups,-- + 'Tis then the swallows build. + + And when the rippling brooks are deep, + Filled to the overflowing, + When o'er the hills and meadows fair + The south wind's softly blowing, + + With sun a-shining, birds a-singing + Till their joyous throats are thrilled, + And with all the world in laughter,-- + 'Tis then the swallows build. + + CATHERINE PARMENTER + (_Eleven years old_) + + +SPRING PLANTING + + "What shall we plant for our Summer, my boy,-- + Seeds of enchantment and seedlings of joy? + Brave little cuttings of laughter and light? + Then shall our summer be flowery and bright." + + "Nay!--You are wrong in your planting," said he, + "Have we not grass and the weeds and a tree? + Why should we water and weary away + For sake of a flower that lives but a day!" + + So she made gardens which he would not dig, + Tended her apricot, apple and fig. + Then, when one morning he chanced to appear, + Sadly he noticed--"No trespassing here." + + HELEN HAY WHITNEY + + +IF I COULD DIG LIKE A RABBIT + + If I could dig holes in the ground like a rabbit, + D'you know what I'd do? + Well, I'd dig a deep hole-- + Right under that tree-- + Then I'd go down--and down, + And find out where the tree starts, + And I'd find out how it eats and drinks, + And what makes it grow.... + Yes I would! + P'r'aps I could dig a hole right up into that tree, + And--see--it--grow!... + But p'r'aps I couldn't. + + Anyway I could dig 'way down, + And see all the flower seeds, + And all the grass seeds, + And under that big rock there might be some rock seeds. + And I'd see everything start growing. + + Do all the seeds make noises + When they start to grow? + What do You s'pose about that? + I s'pose they sing, + 'Cause they're so glad to come up here and see the sunshine.... + + Well, anyway I'd find out all about it, 'way down there, + And then I'd want to come up home, + And I'd have so much to tell to You! + + If I could dig holes like a rabbit, + That's just what I would do. + + ROSE STRONG HUBBELL + + +THE LITTLE GOD + + Mother says there's a little god + Lives in my garden. + I asked her--"In the tree?"-- + I asked her--"In the fountain?" + And she said, yes, that she, + Plain as plain could be, + Everywhere could see + The little god. + "What's he look like, mother?" + "Oh," she said, "like the flowers, + Like the summer showers, + Like the morning dew,-- + Like you." + She says he's everywhere + In my garden--I can't see him there. + + KATHARINE HOWARD + + +DAISIES + + At evening when I go to bed + I see the stars shine overhead; + They are the little daisies white + That dot the meadow of the Night. + + And often while I'm dreaming so, + Across the sky the Moon will go; + It is a lady, sweet and fair, + Who comes to gather daisies there. + + For, when at morning I arise, + There's not a star left in the skies; + She's picked them all and dropped them down + Into the meadows of the town. + + FRANK DEMPSTER SHERMAN + + +THE ANXIOUS FARMER + + It was awful long ago + That I put those seeds around; + And I guess I ought to know + When I stuck 'em in the ground. + 'Cause I noted down the day + In a little diary book,-- + It's gotten losted somewhere and + I don't know where to look. + + But I'm certain anyhow + They've been planted most a week + And it must be time by now + For their little sprouts to peek. + They've been watered every day + With a very speshul care, + And once or twice I've dug 'em up to + see if they were there. + + I fixed the dirt in humps + Just the way they said I should; + And I crumbled all the lumps + Just as finely as I could. + And I found a nangle-worm + A-poking up his head,-- + He maybe feeds on seeds and such, + and so I squushed him dead. + + A seed's so very small, + And dirt all looks the same;-- + How can they know at all + The way they ought to aim? + And so I'm waiting round + In case of any need; + A farmer ought to do his best for + every single seed! + + BURGES JOHNSON + + +OVER THE GARDEN WALL + + By the side of a wall in a garden gay, + A little Rose-bush grew; + In the first dear days of the month of May, + Loved by the sun and dew. + + It gazed to the top of the wall so high + With happy longing and pride, + When it heard the children laugh and cry + As they passed on the other side. + + And into its leaves and buds there came + A beautiful thought of God. + "I can climb to the heights of love and fame, + If my roots are in the sod." + + Then up and over the garden-wall, + It clambered far and wide, + Shedding its sweetness for one and all + As they passed on the other side,-- + + The weary laborer, the beggar cold, + The wise man and the fool, + The mother and daughter, the grandam old + And the children going to school. + + The breezes scattered its pink and white + In a perfumed shower for all, + And the beautiful days of June were bright + With the Rose on the Garden-wall. + + Our hearts are like the Roses of June, + They can live for one and all, + Giving their love as a blessed boon, + From a palace or cottage wall. + + EMILY SELINGER + + +THE FLOWERPHONE + + See the morning-glories hung + On the vine for me to use: + Hark! A flower-bell has rung, + I can talk now, if I choose. + + "Hellow Central! Oh, hello! + Give me Puck of Fairyland-- + Mr. Puck, I want to know + What I cannot understand. + + "How the leaves are scalloped out; + Where's the den of Dragon Fly? + What do crickets chirp about? + Where do flowers go when they die? + + "How far can a Fairy see? + Why are woodsy things afraid? + Who lives in the hollow tree? + How are cobweb carpets made? + + "Why do Fairies hide?--Hello! + What? I cannot understand--" + That's the way they always do, + They've cut me off from Fairyland! + + ABBIE FARWELL BROWN + + +THE FAITHLESS FLOWERS + + I went this morning down to where the Johnny-Jump-Ups grow + Like naughty purple faces nodding in a row. + I stayed 'most all the morning there--I sat down on a stump + And watched and watched and watched them--and they never gave a jump! + + And Golden-Glow that stands up tall and yellow by the fence, + It doesn't glow a single bit--it's only just pretence-- + I ran down after tea last night to watch them in the dark-- + I had to light a match to see; they didn't give a spark! + + And then the Bouncing Bets don't bounce--I tried them yesterday, + I picked a big pink bunch down in the meadow where they stay, + I took a piece of string I had and tied them in a ball, + And threw them down as hard as hard--they never bounced at all! + + And tiger-lilies may look fierce, to meet them all alone, + All tall and black and yellowy and nodding by a stone, + But they're no more like tigers than the dogwood's like a dog, + Or bulrushes are like a bull or toadwort like a frog! + + I like the flowers very much--they're pleasant as can be + For bunches on the table, and to pick and wear and see, + But still it doesn't seem quite fair--it does seem very queer-- + They don't do what they're named for--not at any time of year! + + MARGARET WIDDEMER + + +THE FLOWER-SCHOOL + +When storm clouds rumble in the sky and June showers come down, + +The moist east wind comes marching over the heath to blow its bagpipes +among the bamboos. + +Then crowds of flowers come out of a sudden, from nobody knows where, +and dance upon the grass in wild glee. + +Mother, I really think the flowers go to school underground. + +They do their lessons with doors shut, and if they want to come out to +play before it is time, their master makes them stand in a corner. + +When the rains come down they have their holidays. + +Branches clash together in the forest, and the leaves rustle in the wild +wind, the thunder-clouds clap their giant hands and the flower children +rush out in dresses of pink and yellow and white. + +Do you know, mother, their home is in the sky, where the stars are. + +Haven't you seen how eager they are to get there? Don't you know why +they are in such a hurry? + +Of course, I can guess to whom they raise their arms: they have their +mother as I have my own. + + RABINDRANATH TAGORE + + +IRIS FLOWERS + + My mother let me go with her, + (I had been good all day), + To see the iris flowers that bloom + In gardens far away. + + We walked and walked through hedges green, + Through rice-fields empty still, + To where we saw a garden gate + Beneath the farthest hill. + + She pointed out the rows of "flowers";-- + I saw no planted things, + But white and purple butterflies + Tied down with silken strings. + + They strained and fluttered in the breeze, + So eager to be free; + I begged the man to let them go, + But mother laughed at me. + + She said that they could never rise, + Like birds, to heaven so blue. + But even mothers do not know + Some things that children do. + + That night, the flowers untied themselves + And softly stole away, + To fly in sunshine round my dreams + Until the break of day. + + MARY MCNEIL FENOLLOSA + + +IF I WERE A FAIRY + + I'd love to sit on a clover-top + And sway, + And swing and shake, till the dew would drop + In spray; + To croon a song for the bumble-bee + To leave his golden honey with me, + And sway and swing, till the wind would stop + To play. + + I'd weave a hammock of spider-thread + Loose-hung, + Where grasses nodded above my head + And swung. + And all day long, while the hammock swayed + I'd twine and tangle the sun and shade, + Till the crickets' song, "It is time for bed!" + Was sung. + + Then wrapped in a wee gold sunset cloud + I'd lie, + While night winds sang to the stars that crowd + The sky. + And all night long, I would swing and sleep + While fireflies lighted their lamps to peep-- + "Oh, hush!" they'd whisper, if frogs sang loud-- + "Oh hush-a-by!" + + CHARLES BUXTON GOING + + +FRINGED GENTIANS + + Near where I live there is a lake + As blue as blue can be, winds make + It dance as they go blowing by. + I think it curtseys to the sky. + + It's just a lake of lovely flowers, + And my Mamma says they are ours; + But they are not like those we grow + To be our very own, you know. + + We have a splendid garden, there + Are lots of flowers everywhere; + Roses, and pinks, and four o'clocks, + And hollyhocks, and evening stocks. + + Mamma lets us pick them, but never + Must we pick any gentians--ever! + For if we carried them away + They'd die of homesickness that day. + + AMY LOWELL + + +THE SCISSORS-MAN + + As I was busy with my tools + That make my garden neat, + I heard a little crooked tune + Come drifting up the street. + + It didn't seem to have an end + Like others that are plain; + You always felt it going on + Till it began again. + + It came quite near: I heard it call, + And dropped my tools and ran + To peer out through the gate; + I thought it might be Pan. + + But it was just the scissors-man + Who walked along and played + Upon a little instrument + He told me he had made. + + Now, if you hope to see a god + As hard to find as Pan, + It's sad when it turns out to be + A plain old scissors-man. + + But when my mother came to hear + The crooked tune he made, + She said his instrument was like + Some pipes that Pan had played. + + And I must ask the scissors-man + If he had ever known + Or met a queer old god who played + On pipes much like his own. + + He would not tell: and when I asked + Who taught him how to play, + He made that crooked tune again, + And laughed and went away. + + GRACE HAZARD CONKLING + + + + + THE GARDEN OF LIFE + + +GOD'S GARDEN + + _The years are flowers and bloom within + Eternity's wide garden; + The rose for joy, the thorn for sin, + The gardener God, to pardon + All wilding growths, to prune, reclaim, + And make them rose-like in His name._ + + RICHARD BURTON + + +"THE LORD GOD PLANTED A GARDEN" + + The Lord God planted a garden + In the first white days of the world, + And He set there an angel warden + In a garment of light enfurled. + + So near to the peace of Heaven, + That the hawk might nest with the wren, + For there in the cool of the even + God walked with the first of men. + + And I dream that these garden-closes + With their shade and their sun-flecked sod + And their lilies and bowers of roses, + Were laid by the hand of God. + + The kiss of the sun for pardon, + The song of the birds for mirth,-- + One is nearer God's heart in a garden + Than anywhere else on earth. + + DOROTHY FRANCES GURNEY + + +THE LILIES + + Ever the garden has a spiritual word: + In the slow lapses of unnoticed time + It drops from heaven, or upward learns to climb, + Breathing an earthly sweetness, as a bird + Is in the porches of the morning heard; + So, in the garden, flower to flower will chime, + And with the music thought and feeling rhyme, + And the hushed soul is with new glory stirred. + + Beauty is silent,--through the summer day + Sleeps in her gold,--O wondrous sunlit gold, + Frosting the lilies, virginal array! + Green, full-leaved walls the fragrant sculpture hold, + Warm, orient blooms!--how motionless are they-- + Speechless--the eternal loveliness untold! + + GEORGE E. WOODBERRY + + +BARTER + + Life has loveliness to sell, + All beautiful and splendid things, + Blue waves whitened on a cliff, + Soaring fire that sways and sings, + And children's faces looking up + Holding wonder like a cup. + + Life has loveliness to sell, + Music like a curve of gold, + Scent of pine trees in the rain, + Eyes that love you, arms that hold, + And for your spirit's still delight, + Holy thoughts that star the night. + + Spend all you have for loveliness, + Buy it and never count the cost; + For one white singing hour of peace + Count many a year of strife well lost, + And for a breath of ecstasy + Give all you have been, or could be. + + SARA TEASDALE + + +SONNET + + Drop me the seed, that I, even in my brain, + May be its nourishing earth. No mortal knows + From what immortal granary comes the grain, + Nor how the earth conspires to make the rose; + + But from the dust and from the wetted mud + Comes help, given or taken; so with me + Deep in my brain the essence of my blood + Shall give it stature until Beauty be. + + It will look down, even as the burning flower + Smiles upon June, long after I am gone. + Dust-footed Time will never tell its hour, + Through dusty Time its rose will draw men on, + + Through dusty Time its beauty shall make plain + Man, and, Without, a spirit scattering grain. + + JOHN MASEFIELD + + +THE TILLING + + The dull ox, Sorrow, treads my heart, + Dragging the harrow, Pain, + And turning the old year's tillage + Under the sod again. + So, well do I know the Tiller + Will bring once more the grain; + For grief comes never to the strong-- + Nor dull despair's benumbing wrong-- + But from them spring a hidden throng + Of seeds, for new life fain. + + So heavily do I let the hoofs + Trample the deeps of me; + For only thus is spirit + Brought to fecundity. + But when the ox is stabled + And the harrow set aside, + With calm I watch a new world grow, + Sweetly green, up out of woe, + And, glad of the Tiller, then I know + He too is satisfied. + + CALE YOUNG RICE + + +SAFE + + Now shall your beauty never fade; + For it was budding when you passed + Beyond this glare, into the shade + Of fairer gardens unforecast, + Where, by the dreaded Gardener's spade, + Beauty, transplanted once, shall ever last. + + Now never shall that glorious breast + Wither, those deft hands lose their art, + Nor those glad shoulders be oppressed + By failing breath or fluttering heart, + Nor, from the cheek by dawn possessed, + The subtle ecstasy of hue depart. + + Forever shall you be your best,-- + Nay, far more luminously shine + Than when our comradeship was blessed + By what on earth seemed most divine, + Before your body passed to rest + With what I then supposed this heart of mine. + + Now shall your bud of beauty blow + Far lovelier than I knew before + When, such a little time ago, + I looked upon your face, and swore + That Helen's never moved men so + When her white, magic hands enkindled war. + + As you sweep on from power to power + Shall every earthward thought you think + Irradiate my lonely hour + Till I shall taste the golden drink + Of Life, and see the full-blown flower, + Whose opening bud was mine, beyond the brink. + + ROBERT HAVEN SCHAUFFLER + + +SORROW IN A GARDEN + + Here in this ancient garden + When Winter days had flown + I came, with Comrade Sorrow + To dwell with her alone. + + Here in this sweet seclusion + Far from the World's cold stare + What exquisite communings + Sorrow and I would share! + + What banquets of remembrance! + What luxury of tears! + With Sorrow in a garden + Through the rose-scented years! + + But one day when she called me + I did not hear her voice; + I only heard the lilies + Which sang "Rejoice, rejoice!" + + The world was gold and azure + The air was sweet with birds; + My garden laughed with rapture + How could I hear her words? + + For June was in the garden + And June was in my heart, + And since that hour pale Sorrow + And I have dwelt apart. + + But often in the twilight + When birds and gardens sleep + I feel her presence with me + Her arms about me creep. + + And when the ghosts of Summer + With the dead roses talk, + I hear her softly sobbing + Along the moonlit walk. + + I never can forget her + So intimate were we! + But Sorrow, in my garden + Abides no more with me. + + MAY RILEY SMITH + + +MOTH-FLOWERS + + The pale moth + Trembles in the white moonlight; + Thus my heart trembles with love! + + The rose petals fall-- + The red petals of my heart; + Oh, the breath of love! + + Cool, sweet tears + Of honey, the jasmine weeps; + Burning fall the tears of love. + + Oh, how bitter + Is the White Poppy, Death; + There are no more dreams of love. + + JEANNE ROBERT FOSTER + + +ALCHEMY + + I lift my heart as spring lifts up + A yellow daisy to the rain; + My heart will be a lovely cup + Altho' it holds but pain. + + For I shall learn from flower and leaf + That color every drop they hold, + To change the lifeless wine of grief + To living gold. + + SARA TEASDALE + + +FLOWERS IN THE DARK + + Late in the evening, when the room had grown + Too hot and tiresome with its flaring light + And noisy voices, I stole out alone + Into the darkness of the summer night. + + Down the long garden-walk I slowly went, + A little wind was stirring in the trees; + I only saw the whitest of the flowers, + And I was sorry that the earlier hours + Of that fair evening had been so ill spent, + Because I said, "I am content with these + Dear friends of mine who only speak to me + With their delicious fragrance, and who tell + To me their gracious welcome silently." + + The leaves that touch my hand with dew are wet; + I find the tall white lilies I love well. + I linger as I pass the mignonette, + And what surprise could clearer be than this: + To find my sweet rose waiting with a kiss! + + SARAH ORNE JEWETT + + +WELCOME + + There is a hillside garden that their tender hands have tended, + Below a house that holds for me a shrine of joy and light. + And there beneath a cloudless sun when June is warm and splendid + I see them coming home to me, three girls in garments white. + + Alice with lilies in her hands, and little dark Dolores + Showing her glowing marigolds; and Iris last of all + Under the arbor by the wall of purple morning-glories, + Bringing my crimson ramblers back that sought to scale the wall. + + Alice with smiles along her lips; Dolores still and tender; + Iris whose eyes can tell me more than tongue shall ever say; + They offer to my open arms their bodies soft and slender, + Bringing the best of summer here, they garlanded to-day. + + Into my study they have swept, and brasses from Benares, + Vases from Venice they have filled, and hung their wreaths around + The portrait where their mother smiles like the tall tranquil Maries + That Perugino used to paint, with hair like sunlight crowned. + + "Mother is coming home to-day." (The words themselves are singing.) + "How long it is," our litany, forgotten, they repeat, + Making their last response to love, their last oblation bringing + Till at the hour of evensong, their voices still more sweet, + Tremble and sanctify the house where happy hearts shall meet. + + JOHN CURTIS UNDERWOOD + + +THE CHILD IN THE GARDEN + + When to the garden of untroubled thought + I came of late, and saw the open door, + And wished again to enter, and explore + The sweet, wild ways with stainless bloom inwrought + And bowers of innocence with beauty fraught, + It seemed some purer voice must speak before + I dared to tread that garden loved of yore, + That Eden lost unknown and found unsought. + + Then just within the gate I saw a child,-- + A stranger-child, yet to my heart most dear; + He held his hands to me, and softly smiled + With eyes that knew no shade of sin or fear: + "Come in," he said, "and play awhile with me; + I am the little child you used to be." + + HENRY VAN DYKE + + +A WONDER GARDEN + + "And a little child shall lead them" + Into her world, beneath her smiling skies; + A little child with wide, wondering eyes + Deep with the mystery that in them lies. + Her soft hand plucks a stem asunder, + And with the dream that is a part + Of Childhood's heart, + She questions: + "Now I want to wonder!" + + She "wants to wonder" how so fair a thing + Is born; from what it springs, and why it blooms: + Whence comes its sweet, elusive odor rare,-- + The garnered fragrance of a hundred Junes. + Was it all planned,--or just some lovely blunder? + Thus gazing, with the seeking look that lies + In Childhood's eyes, + She questions: + "Now I want to wonder!" + + Dear Child, your groping mind seeks far and true: + Mankind and Nature,--all "want to wonder" too. + + FREDERIC A. WHITING + + +FROM A CAR-WINDOW + + Pines, and a blur of lithe young grasses; + Gold in a pool, from the western glow; + Spread of wings where the last thrush passes-- + And thoughts of you as the sun dips low. + + Quiet lane, and an irised meadow ... + (_How many summers have died since then?_) ... + I wish you knew how the deepening shadow + Lies on the blue and green again! + + Dusk, and the curve of field and hollow + Etched in gray when a star appears: + Sunset,... twilight,... and dark to follow,... + And thoughts of you thro' a mist of tears. + + RUTH GUTHRIE HARDING + + +SONG OF THE WEARY TRAVELLER + + I am weary. I would rest + On the wide earth's swelling breast, + Nurtured by the quiet sod + Where the fragrant dew has trod, + Soothed by all the winds that pass, + Hearing voices in the grass + Of the little insect things + Happier than the mightiest kings! + + I am weary. I would sleep + In some quiet perfumed deep + Where no human touch could bring + Tears to me or anything. + There I would forget to weep + And my silent cloister keep,-- + There I would the earth embrace + Meeting Beauty face to face. + + I am weary. I would go + Where the fields are white with snow, + Where the violets are lain + Far from human strife and pain-- + Far from longing and delight, + Thro' the endless starry night, + There I would forget to weep, + And my silent cloister keep. + + BLANCHE SHOEMAKER WAGSTAFF + + +COBWEBS + + Who would not praise thee, miracle of Frost? + Some gesture overnight, some breath benign, + And lo! the tree's a fountain all a-shine, + The hedge a throne of unimagined cost; + In wheel and fan along a wall embossed, + The spider's humble handiwork shows fine + With jewels girdling every airy line; + Though the small mason in the cold be lost. + + Web after web, a morning snare of bliss + Starring with beauty the whole neighbourhood, + May well beget an envy clean and good. + When man goes too into the earth-abyss, + And God in His altered garden walks, I would + My secret woof might gleam so fair as this. + + LOUISE IMOGEN GUINEY + + +BLIND + + The Spring blew trumpets of color; + Her Green sang in my brain-- + I heard a blind man groping + "Tap--tap" with his cane; + + I pitied him his blindness; + But can I boast, "I see?" + Perhaps there walks a spirit + Close by, who pities me,-- + + A spirit who hears me tapping + The five-sensed cane of mind + Amid such unguessed glories-- + That I--am worse than blind! + + HARRY KEMP + + +HERB OF GRACE + + I do not know what sings in me-- + I only know it sings + When pale the stars, and every tree + Is glad with waking wings. + + I only know the air is sweet + With wondrous flowers unseen-- + That unaccountably complete + Is June's accustomed green. + + The wind has magic in its touch; + Strange dreams the sunsets give. + Life I have questioned overmuch-- + To-day, I live. + + AMELIA JOSEPHINE BURR + + +BEFORE MARY OF MAGDALA CAME + + Now in the place where he was crucified there was a garden; + and in the garden a new sepulchre.... The first day of the + week cometh Mary Magdalene early ... unto the sepulchre.... + And ... she turned herself back, and saw Jesus standing.... + Jesus saith unto her, Mary. She turned herself, and saith + unto him ... Master. St. John. + + From silvering mid-sea to the Syrian sand, + It was the time of blossom in the land. + On field and hill and down the steep ravine, + Ran foam and fire of bloom and ripple of green. + The Sepulchre was open wide, and thrown + Among the crushed, hurt lilies lay the Stone. + A light wind stirred the Garden: everywhere + The smell of myrrh was out upon the air. + For three days He had traveled with the dead, + And now was risen to go with stiller tread + The old earth ways again, + To stay the heart and build the hope of men. + He made a luster in that leafy place, + His form serene, majestical; His face + Touched with a cryptic beauty like the sea + Lit by the moon when night begins to be. + + The cold gray east was warming into rose + Beyond the steep ravine where Kedron goes. + Now suddenly on the morning faint with flame + Jerusalem with all her clamors came-- + A snarl of noises from the far-off street, + Dispute and barter and the clack of feet. + A moment it brawled upward and was gone-- + Faded, forgotten in the deep still dawn. + He passed across the morning: felt the cool, + Keen, kindling air blown upward from the pool. + A busy wind brought little tender smells + From barley fields and weeds by April wells. + Up in the tree-tops where the breezes ran + The old sweet noises in the nests began; + And once He paused to listen while a bird + Shouted the joy till all the Garden heard. + + There in the morning, on the old worn ways-- + New-risen from the sacrament of death-- + He looked toward Olivet with tender gaze: + Old things of the heart came back from other days-- + The happy, homely shop in Nazareth; + The noonday shadow of a wayside tree + That had befriended Him in Galilee; + Sweet talks in Bethany by the chimney stone, + And night-long lingering talks with John alone. + And then He thought of all the weary men + He would have gathered as a mother hen + Gathers her brood under her wings at night. + And then He saw the ages in one flight, + And heard as a great sea + All of the griefs that had been and must be.... + + As He stood looking on the endless sky, + Over the Garden went a sobbing cry. + He turned, and saw where the tall almonds are + His Mary of Magdala, wildly pale, + Fast-fleeting down the trail, + And suddenly His face was like a star! + He spoke; she knew--a blaze of happy tears; + Then "Master!" ... and the word rings down the years! + + EDWIN MARKHAM + + +CONSCIENCE + + Wisdom am I + When thou art but a fool; + My part the man, + When thou hast played the clod; + Hast lost thy garden? + When the eve is cool, + Harken!--'tis I who walk + There with thy God! + + MARGARET STEELE ANDERSON + + +ROSA MYSTICA + + This rose so exquisite, + So perfect, so complete, + Beauty beyond all price,-- + With the hour it dies. + + God makes Him roses fast, + With such magnificent haste, + Multitudes, multitudes, + In gardens, fields and woods. + + The roses tell His praise + Their little length of days; + Testify to His name, + Gold on gold, flame on flame. + + They are scarce here, scarce blown, + But they are gone, are flown; + The gardener's broom must sweep them + And in the darkness heap them. + + Drift of rose-leaves upon + The garden-bed, the lawn: + The exquisite thought of God + Is scattered, wasted abroad. + + What of the soul of the rose? + It shall not die with those; + It shall wake, shall live again + In God's rose-garden. + + It shall climb rose-trellises + Before God's palaces; + The Eternal Rose shall cover + The House of God all over. + + She shall breathe out her soul + And yet living, made whole, + Shall offer her oblation + Out of her purest passion. + + She shall know all bliss + Where God's garden is: + The rose drinking her fill is + Of joy with her sister lilies. + + Where the Water of Life sweet + Bathes her from head to feet, + The River of Life flows-- + There is the Rose. + + KATHARINE TYNAN + + +THE MYSTERY + + He came and took me by the hand + Up to a red rose tree, + He kept His meaning to Himself + But gave a rose to me. + + I did not pray Him to lay bare + The mystery to me, + Enough the rose was Heaven to smell + And His own face to see. + + RALPH HODGSON + + +THE ROSE + + And so must life be many-veined; + The loves that hurt, the fate that blent + My life with myriad lives and ways, + The processes that probed and pained, + The pencillings of nights and days-- + Cross currents, tangling as they went, + With oh, such conflict in my soul!-- + How should I know that they were meant + Just to make living sweet and whole, + Just to unclose + God's perfect rose? + + ANGELA MORGAN + + +FOR THESE + + An acre of land between the shore and the hills, + Upon a ledge that shows my Kingdoms three, + The lovely visible earth and sky and sea, + Where what the curlew needs not, the farmer tills: + + A house that shall love me as I love it, + Well-hedged, and honoured by a few ash trees + That linnets, greenfinches, and goldfinches + Shall often visit and make love in and flit; + + A garden I need never go beyond, + Broken but neat, whose sunflowers every one + Are fit to be the sign of the Rising Sun: + A spring, a brook's bend, or at least a pond! + + For these I ask not, but neither too late + Nor yet too early, for what men call content,-- + And also that something may be sent + To be contented with, I ask of fate. + + EDWARD THOMAS (EDWARD EASTAWAY) + + +SAMUEL GARDNER + + I who kept the greenhouse, + Lover of trees and flowers, + Oft in life saw this umbrageous elm, + Measuring its generous branches with my eye, + And listened to its rejoicing leaves + Lovingly patting each other + With sweet aeolian whispers. + And well they might: + For the roots had grown so wide and deep + That the soil of the hill could not withhold + Aught of its virtue, enriched by rain, + And warmed by the sun; + But yielded it all to the thrifty roots, + Through which it was drawn and whirled to the trunk, + And thence to the branches, and into the leaves, + Wherefrom the breeze took life and sang. + Now I, an under-tenant of the earth, can see + That the branches of a tree + Spread no wider than its roots. + And how shall the soul of a man + Be larger than the life he has lived? + + EDGAR LEE MASTERS + + +SEEDS + + What shall we be like when + We cast this earthly body and attain + To immortality? + What shall we be like then? + + Ah, who shall say + What vast expansions shall be ours that day? + What transformations of this house of clay, + To fit the heavenly mansions and the light of day? + Ah, who shall say? + + But this we know,-- + We drop a seed into the ground, + A tiny, shapeless thing, shrivelled and dry, + And, in the fulness of its time, is seen + A form of peerless beauty, robed and crowned + Beyond the pride of any earthly queen, + Instinct with loveliness, and sweet and rare, + The perfect emblem of its Maker's care. + + This from a shrivelled seed?-- + --Then may man hope indeed! + + For man is but the seed of what he shall be, + When, in the fulness of his perfecting, + He drops the husk and cleaves his upward way, + Through earth's retardings and the clinging clay, + Into the sunshine of God's perfect day. + No fetters then! No bonds of time or space! + But powers as ample as the boundless grace + That suffered man, and death, and yet, in tenderness, + Set wide the door, and passed Himself before-- + As He had promised--to prepare a place. + + Yea, we may hope! + For we are seeds, + Dropped into earth for heavenly blossoming. + Perchance, when comes the time of harvesting, + His loving care + May find some use for even a humble tare. + + We know not what we shall be--only this-- + That we shall be made like Him--as He is. + + JOHN OXENHAM + + +"LORD, I ASK A GARDEN" + + Lord, I ask a garden in a quiet spot + where there may be a brook with a good flow, + an humble little house covered with bell-flowers + and a wife and a son who shall resemble Thee. + + I should wish to live many years, free from hates, + and make my verses, as the rivers + that moisten the earth, fresh and pure. + Lord, give me a path with trees and birds. + + I wish that you would never take my mother, + for I should wish to tend her as a child + and put her to sleep with kisses, when somewhat old + she may need the sun. + + R. AREVALO MARTINEZ + + +MY FLOWER-ROOM + + My flower-room is such a little place, + Scarce twenty feet by nine, yet in that space + I have met God; yea, many a radiant hour + Have talked with Him, the All-Embracing Cause, + About His laws. + And he has shown me, in each vine and flower, + Such miracles of power + That day by day this flower-room of mine + Has come to be a shrine. + + Fed by the self-same soil and atmosphere, + Pale, tender shoots appear, + Rising to greet the light in that sweet room. + One speeds to crimson bloom, + One slowly creeps to unassuming grace, + One climbs, one trails, + One drinks the light and moisture, + One exhales. + Up through the earth together, stem by stem, + Two plants push swiftly in a floral race, + Till one sends forth a blossom like a gem, + And one gives only fragrance. + In a seed, + So small it scarce is felt within the hand, + Lie hidden such delights + Of scents and sights, + When by the elements of Nature freed, + As paradise must have at its command. + + From shapeless roots and ugly bulbous things, + What gorgeous beauty springs! + Such infinite variety appears, + A hundred artists in a hundred years + Could never copy from a floral world + The marvels that in leaf and bud lie curled. + Nor could the most colossal mind of man + Create one little seed of plant or vine + Without assistance from the First Great Plan, + Without the aid divine. + + Who but a God + Could draw from light and moisture, heat and cold, + And fashion in earth's mold, + A multitude of blooms to deck one sod? + Who but a God? + Not one man knows + Just why the bloom and fragrance of the rose, + Or how its tints were blent; + Or why the white camellia, without scent, + Up through the same soil grows; + Or how the daisy and the violet + And blades of grass first on wild meadows met. + Not one, not one man knows, + The wisest but suppose. + This flower-room of mine + Has come to be a shrine, + And I go hence + Each day with larger faith and reverence. + + ELLA WHEELER WILCOX + + +"VESTURED AND VEILED WITH TWILIGHT" + + Vestured and veiled with twilight, + Lulled in the winter's ease, + Dim, and happy, and silent, + My garden dreams by its trees. + + Urn of the sprayless fountain, + Glimmering nymph and faun, + Gleam through the dark-plumed cedar, + Fade on the dusky lawn. + + Here is no stir of summer, + Here is no pulse of spring; + Never a bud to burgeon, + Never a bird to sing. + + Dreams--and the kingdom of quiet! + Only the dead leaves lie + Over the fallen roses + Under the shrouded sky. + + Folded and fenced with silence + Mindless of moil and mart, + It is twilight here in my garden, + And twilight here in my heart. + + ROSAMUND MARRIOTT WATSON + + +THE FRUIT GARDEN PATH + + The path runs straight between the flowering rows, + A moonlit path hemmed in by beds of bloom, + Where phlox and marigolds dispute for room + With tall, red dahlias and the briar rose. + 'Tis reckless prodigality which throws + Into the night these wafts of rich perfume + Which sweep across the garden like a plume. + Over the trees a single bright star glows. + Dear garden of my childhood, here my years + Have run away like little grains of sand; + The moments of my life, its hopes and fears + Have all found utterance here, where now I stand; + My eyes ache with the weight of unshed tears, + You are my home, do you not understand? + + AMY LOWELL + + +WOOD SONG + + I heard a woodthrush in the dusk + Twirl three notes and make a star-- + My heart that walked with bitterness + Came back from very far. + + Three shining notes were all he had, + And yet they made a starry call-- + I caught life back against my breast + And kissed it, scars and all. + + SARA TEASDALE + + +A PRAYER + + Teach me, Father, how to go + Softly as the grasses grow; + Hush my soul to meet the shock + Of the wild world as a rock; + But my spirit, propt with power, + Make as simple as a flower. + Let the dry heart fill its cup, + Like a poppy looking up; + Let life lightly wear her crown, + Like a poppy looking down, + When its heart is filled with dew + And its life begins anew. + + Teach me, Father, how to be + Kind and patient as a tree. + Joyfully the crickets croon + Under shady oak at noon; + Beetle, on his mission bent, + Tarries in that cooling tent. + Let me, also, cheer a spot, + Hidden field or garden grot-- + Place where passing souls can rest + On the way and be their best. + + EDWIN MARKHAM + + +THE PHILOSOPHER'S GARDEN + + "_See this my garden, + Large and fair!_" + --Thus, to his friend, + The Philosopher. + + "_'Tis not too long_," + His friend replied, + With truth exact,-- + "_Nor yet too wide. + But well compact, + If somewhat cramped + On every side._" + + Quick the reply-- + "_But see how high!-- + It reaches up + To God's blue sky!_" + + JOHN OXENHAM + + + + +INDEX OF TITLES + + + AEre Perennius, _Charles Hanson Towne_, 139. + + Afternoon on a Hill, _Edna St. Vincent Millay_, 115. + + Alchemy, _Sara Teasdale_, 262. + + Amiel's Garden, _Gertrude Huntington McGiffert_, 211. + + Anxious Farmer, The, _Burges Johnson_, 242. + + April Morning, An, _Bliss Carman_, 23. + + April Rain, _Conrad Aiken_, 25. + + April Weather, _Lizette Woodworth Reese_, 27. + + Arbutus, _Adelaide Crapsey_, 111. + + As in a Rose-Jar, _Thomas S. Jones, Jr._, 168. + + Asking for Roses, _Robert Frost_, 92. + + At Isola Bella, _Jessie B. Rittenhouse_, 198. + + Autumn Rose, The, _Antoinette De Coursey Patterson_, 52. + + Autumnal, _Richard Middleton_, 186. + + Awakening, The, _Angela Morgan_, 149. + + + Baby Seed Song, _E. Nesbit_, 234. + + Baby's Valentine, _Laura E. Richards_, 232. + + Ballade of the Dreamland Rose, _Brian Hooker_, 181. + + Barter, _Sara Teasdale_, 256. + + Before Mary of Magdala came, _Edwin Markham_, 270. + + Beyond, _Thomas S. Jones, Jr._, 36. + + Birth of the Flowers, The, _Mary McNeil Fenollosa_, 18. + + Blind, _Harry Kemp_, 269. + + Blooming of the Rose, The, _Anna Hempstead Branch_, 179. + + Blossomy Barrow, The, _T. A. Daly_, 40. + + Boulders, _Charles Wharton Stork_, 114. + + Breath of Mint, A, _Grace Hazard Conkling_, 217. + + But we did walk in Eden, _Josephine Preston Peabody_, 125. + + Butterfly, The, _Edwin Markham_, 76. + + + Cactus, The, _Laurence Hope_, 195. + + Cardinal-Bird, The, _Arthur Guiterman_, 66. + + Champa Flower, The, _Rabindranath Tagore_, 200. + + Charm: To be said in the Sun, _Josephine Preston Peabody_, 11. + + Child in the Garden, The, _Henry van Dyke_, 265. + + Choice, The, _Katharine Tynan_, 223. + + Cloister Garden at Certosa, The, _Richard Burton_, 208. + + Cloud and Flower, _Agnes Lee_, 124. + + Clover, _John B. Tabb_, 105. + + Cobwebs, _Louise Imogen Guiney_, 268. + + Colonial Garden, A, _James B. Kenyan_, 86. + + Color Notes, _Charles Wharton Stork_, 50. + + Columbines, _Arthur Guiterman_, 39. + + Como in April, _Robert Underwood Johnson_, 207. + + Conscience, _Margaret Steele Anderson_, 273. + + Cricket in the Path, The, _Amelia Josephine Burr_, 73. + + Crocus Flame, The, _Clinton Scollard_, 28. + + + Da Thief, _T. A. Daly_, 143. + + Daffodils, _Ruth Guthrie Harding_, 28. + + Daisies, _Frank Dempster Sherman_, 241. + + Daisy, To a, _Alice Meynell_, 109. + + Dandelion, The, _Vachel Lindsay_, 107. + + Dawn in my Garden, _Marguerite Wilkinson_, 221. + + Deserted Garden, The, _Pai Ta-Shun_, 204. + + Dews, The, _John B. Tabb_, 9. + + Dials, The, _Arthur Wallace Peach_, 12. + + "Draw closer, O ye trees," _Lloyd Mifflin_, 159. + + Dream, A, _Antoinette De Coursey Patterson_, 129. + + Dusty Hour-Glass, The, _Amy Lowell_, 176. + + + Early Gods, The, _Witter Bynner_, 30. + + Earth, _John Hall Wheelock_, 2. + + Eden-Hunger, _William Watson_, 212. + + Egyptian Garden, In an, _Clinton Scollard_, 201. + + End of Summer, The, _Edna St. Vincent Millay_, 49. + + Evening in Old Japan, _Antoinette De Coursey Patterson_, 202. + + Ever the Same, _Josephine Preston Peabody_, 140. + + Exile's Garden, An, _Sophie Jewett_, 207. + + + Faithless Flowers, The, _Margaret Widdemer_, 245. + + Family Trees, _Douglas Malloch_, 156. + + Fireflies, _Antoinette De Coursey Patterson_, 72. + + Flower-School, The, _Rabindranath Tagore_, 246. + + Flowerphone, The, _Abbie Farwell Brown_, 244. + + Flowers in the Dark, _Sarah Orne Jewett_, 263. + + Flowers of June, The, _James Terry White_, 183. + + For These, _Edward Thomas_, 276. + + Fountain, The, _Harry Kemp_, 14. + + Fountain, The, _Sara Teasdale_, 199. + + Four O'Clocks, _Julia C. R. Dorr_, 91. + + Fringed Gentians, _Amy Lowell_, 250. + + From a Car-Window, _Ruth Guthrie Harding_, 267. + + "Frost to-night," _Edith M. Thomas_, 54. + + Fruit Garden Path, The, _Amy Lowell_, 283. + + Furrow, The, _Padraic Colum_, 3. + + + Garden, The, _Gertrude Huntington McGiffert_, 80. + + Garden, The, _Alice Meynell_, 123. + + Garden at Bemerton, The, _Lizette Woodworth Reese_, 212. + + Garden Friend, A, _Catherine Markham_, 152. + + Garden in August, The, _Gertrude Huntington McGiffert_, 46. + + Garden in Venice, A, _Dorothy Frances Gurney_, 209. + + Garden of Dreams, The, _Bliss Carman_, 169. + + Garden of Mnemosyne, The, _Rosamund Marriott Watson_, 181. + + Garden-Piece, A, _Edmund Gosse_, 126. + + Garden Prayer, A, _Thomas Walsh_, 194. + + "Go down to Kew in lilac-time," _Alfred Noyes_, 35. + + God's Garden, _Richard Burton_, 254. + + Golden Bowl, The, _Mary McMillan_, 51. + + Golden-Rod, The, _Margaret Deland_, 116. + + Goldfinch, The, _Odell Shepard_, 63. + + Grace for Gardens, _Louise Driscoll_, 226. + + "Grandmother's gathering boneset," _Edith M. Thomas_, 216. + + Green o' the Spring, The, _Denis A. McCarthy_, 22. + + + Haunted Garden, A, _Louis Untermeyer_, 174. + + Heart's Garden, _Norreys Jephson O'Conor_, 133. + + Her Garden, _Eldredge Denison_, 189. + + Her Garden, _Louis Dodge_, 139. + + Herb of Grace, _Amelia Josephine Burr_, 270. + + Homesick, _Julia C. R. Dorr_, 170. + + "How many flowers are gently met," _George Sterling_, 127. + + Hummingbird, The, _Hermann Hagedorn_, 61. + + + "I meant to do my work to-day," _Richard Le Gallienne_, 60. + + Idealists, _Alfred Kreymborg_, 158. + + If I could dig like a Rabbit, _Rose Strong Hubbell_, 239. + + If I were a Fairy, _Charles Buxton Going_, 249. + + In a Garden, _Livingston L. Biddle_, 131. + + In a Garden, _Horace Holley_, 7. + + In a Garden of Granada, _Thomas Walsh_, 210. + + In an Egyptian Garden, _Clinton Scollard_, 201. + + In an Old Garden, _Madison Cawein_, 169. + + In an Oxford Garden, _Arthur Upson_, 213. + + In Memory's Garden, _Thomas Walsh_, 183. + + In my Mother's Garden, _Margaret Widdemer_, 87. + + In the Garden, _Pai Ta-Shun_, 204. + + In the Garden-Close at Mezra, _Clinton Scollard_, 195. + + In the Womb, _A. E._, 4. + + Indian Summer, _Sara Teasdale_, 53. + + Iris Flowers, _Mary McNeil Fenollosa_, 247. + + "It was June in the garden," _Emile Verhaeren_, 136. + + + Jewel-Weed, _Florence Earle Coates_, 111. + + Joe-Pyeweed, _Louis Untermeyer_, 108. + + Joy of the Springtime, The, _Sarojini Naidu_, 20. + + Joys of a Summer Morning, The, _Henry A. Wise Wood_, 101. + + July Garden, The, _Robert Ernest Vernede_, 43. + + July Midnight, _Amy Lowell_, 72. + + June, _Douglas Malloch_, 36. + + June Rapture, _Angela Morgan_, 37. + + + Kinfolk, _Kate Whiting Patch_, 65. + + + Lady of the Snows, A, _Harriet Monroe_, 153. + + Larkspur, _James Oppenheim_, 42. + + Late Walk, A, _Robert Frost_, 50. + + Lavender, _W. W. Blair Fish_, 219. + + Lilies, The, _George E. Woodberry_, 255. + + Little Ghost, The, _Edna St. Vincent Millay_, 190. + + Little Girl's Songs, A, _Hilda Conkling_, 236. + + Little God, The, _Katharine Howard_, 240. + + "Lord, I ask a Garden," _R. Arevalo Martinez_, 279. + + Love planted a Rose, _Katharine Lee Bates_, 123. + + "Loveliest of trees," _A. E. Housman_, 155. + + + Magnolia, The, _Jose Santos Chocano_, 34. + + May is building her House, _Richard Le Gallienne_, 33. + + Message, The, _Helen Hay Whitney_, 141. + + Message, The, _George Edward Woodberry_, 120. + + Messenger, The, _James Stephens_, 71. + + "Mid-summer blooms within our quiet garden-ways," _Emile Verhaeren_, + 44. + + Midsummer Garden, A, _Clinton Scollard_, 172. + + Miracle, _L. H. Bailey_, 148. + + Mocking-Bird, A, _Witter Bynner_, 65. + + Mocking-Bird, The, _Frank L. Stanton_, 69. + + Morning-Glory, The, _Florence Earle Coates_, 40. + + Moth-Flowers, _Jeanne Robert Foster_, 262. + + My Flower-Room, _Ella Wheeler Wilcox_, 280. + + "My soul is like a garden-close," _Thomas S. Jones, Jr._, 128. + + Mystery, _Ralph Hodgson_, 275. + + + New Sundial, To a, _Violet Fane_, 13. + + Night-Moth, The, _Marion Couthouy Smith_, 75. + + Nightingales, _Grace Hazard Conkling_, 63. + + November Night, _Adeline Crapsey_, 55. + + + "Oh, tell me how my garden grows," _Mildred Howells_, 188. + + Old Brocade, The, _M. G. Brereton_, 93. + + Old Gardens, _Arthur Upson_, 179. + + Old Homes, _Madison Cawein_, 81. + + Old Mothers, _Charles Ross_, 95. + + Old-fashioned Garden, The, _John Russell Hayes_, 83. + + Order, _Paul Scott Mowrer_, 75. + + Over the Garden Wall, _Emily Selinger_, 243. + + Oxford Garden, In an, _Arthur Upson_, 213. + + + Pasture, The, _Robert Frost_, 104. + + Path that leads to Nowhere, The, _Corinne Roosevelt Robinson_, 117. + + Philosopher's Garden, The, _John Oxenham_, 285. + + Planting, _Robert Livingston_, 230. + + Poplars, The, _Theodosia Garrison_, 164. + + Poppies, _John Russell Hayes_, 45. + + Prayer, _John Hall Wheelock_, 130. + + Prayer, A, _Edwin Markham_, 284. + + Primavera, _George Cabot Lodge_, 21. + + Progress, _Charlotte Becker_, 125. + + Proud Vegetables, The, _Mary McNeil Fenollosa_, 221. + + Puritan Lady's Garden, A, _Sarah N. Cleghorn_, 82. + + Putting in the Seed, _Robert Frost_, 5. + + + Rain, The, _William H. Davies_, 9. + + Rain in the Night, _Amelia Josephine Burr_, 235. + + Reflections, _Amy Lowell_, 203. + + Rest at Noon, _Hermann Hagedorn_, 74. + + Results and Roses, _Edgar A. Guest_, 145. + + Road to the Pool, The, _Grace Hazard Conkling_, 99. + + Roman Garden, A, _Florence Wilkinson Evans_, 205. + + Rosa Mystica, _Katharine Tynan_, 273. + + Rose, The, _Grace Hazard Conkling_, 130. + + Rose, The, _Angela Morgan_, 275. + + Rose-Geranium, _Clement Wood_, 90. + + Rose Lover, A, _Frederic A. Whiting_, 134. + + Roses, _Wilfrid Wilson Gibson_, 138. + + Roses in the Subway, _Dana Burnet_, 191. + + + Safe, _Robert Haven Schauffler_, 259. + + Samuel Gardner, _Edgar Lee Masters_, 277. + + Scissors-Man, The, _Grace Hazard Conkling_, 250. + + Secret, The, _Arthur Wallace Peach_, 77. + + Seeds, _John Oxenham_, 278. + + Selection from "Under the Trees," _Anna Hempstead Branch_, 151. + + Seller of Herbs, A, _Lizette Woodworth Reese_, 218. + + Serenade, _Marjorie L. C. Pickthall_, 184. + + Shade, _Theodosia Garrison_, 150. + + Shower, A, _Rowland Thirlmere_, 8. + + Snow-Gardens, The, _Zoe Akins_, 55. + + Soft Day, A, _W. M. Letts_, 110. + + Song for Winter, A, _Mrs. Schuyler Van Rensselaer_, 57. + + Song from "April," _Irene Rutherford McLeod_, 98. + + Song in a Garden, A, _Theodosia Garrison_, 135. + + Song of Fairies, A, _Elizabeth Kirby_, 131. + + Song of the Weary Traveller, _Blanche Shoemaker Wagstaff_, 267. + + Song of Wandering Aengus, The, _W. B. Yeats_, 177. + + Song to Belinda, A, _Theodosia Garrison_, 132. + + Sonnet: "Drop me the seed, that I, even in my brain," _John + Masefield_, 257. + + Sonnet: "It may be so; but let the unknown be," _John Masefield_, 10. + + Sonnet: "The sweet caresses that I gave to you," _Elsa Barker_, 135. + + Sorrow in a Garden, _May Riley Smith_, 260. + + South Wind, _Siegfried Sassoon_, 102. + + Spirit of the Birch, The, _Arthur Ketchum_, 156. + + Spring, _John Gould Fletcher_, 20. + + Spring, _Francis Ledwidge_, 26. + + Spring Beauties, The, _Helen Gray Cone_, 68. + + Spring Patchwork, _Abbie Farwell Brown_, 231. + + Spring Planting, _Helen Hay Whitney_, 239. + + Spring Song, _Hilda Conkling_, 236. + + Spring Song, _William Griffith_, 62. + + Stairways and Gardens, _Ella Wheeler Wilcox_, 94. + + Sun, Cardinal, and Corn Flowers, _Hannah Parker Kimball_, 48. + + Sunflowers, _Clinton Scollard_, 48. + + Sweetheart-Lady, _Frank L. Stanton_, 133. + + Sweetwilliam, To the, _Norman Gale_, 88. + + + Tell-Tale, _Oliver Herford_, 142. + + "The Lord God planted a garden," _Dorothy Frances Gurney_, 255. + + "There is strength in the soil," _Arthur Stringer_, 4. + + Thief, Da, _T. A. Daly_, 143. + + Thistle, The, _Miles M. Dawson_, 104. + + Thoughts fer the Discuraged Farmer, _James Whitcomb Riley_, 225. + + Three Cherry Trees, The, _Walter de la Mare_, 178. + + Tilling, The, _Cale Young Rice_, 258. + + Time of Roses, The, _Sarojini Naidu_, 122. + + To a Daisy, _Alice Meynell_, 109. + + To a New Sundial, _Violet Fane_, 13. + + To a Weed, _Gertrude Hall_, 102. + + To the Sweetwilliam, _Norman Gale_, 88. + + Tree, The, _Evelyn Underhill_, 153. + + Trees, _Bliss Carman_, 160. + + Trees, _Joyce Kilmer_, 165. + + Trees, The, _Samuel Valentine Cole_, 162. + + Tulip Garden, A, _Amy Lowell_, 30. + + Tulips, _Arthur Guiterman_, 31. + + Two Roses, _William Lindsey_, 138. + + + "Under the Trees," Selection from, _Anna Hempstead Branch_, 151. + + Up a Hill and a Hill, _Fannie Stearns Davis_, 100. + + + Velvets, _Hilda Conkling_, 237. + + "Vestured and veiled with twilight," _Rosamund Marriott Watson_, 282. + + + Wall, The, _Abbie Farwell Brown_, 112. + + Ways of Time, The, _William H. Davies_, 172. + + Weed, To a, _Gertrude Hall_, 102. + + Welcome, _John Curtis Underwood_, 264. + + Welcome, The, _Arthur Powell_, 19. + + "What heart but fears a fragrance?" _Martha Gilbert Dickinson + Bianchi_, 185. + + When Swallows Build, _Catherine Parmenter_, 238. + + "Where love is life," _Duncan Campbell Scott_, 121. + + While April Rain went by, _Shaemas O Sheel_, 25. + + Whisper of Earth, The, _Edward J. O'Brien_, 6. + + White Iris, A, _Pauline B. Barrington_, 32. + + White Peacock, The, _William Sharp_, 196. + + White Rose, The, _Charles Hanson Towne_, 173. + + Wild Gardens, _Ada Foster Murray_, 106. + + Wild Rose, The, _Charles Buxton Going_, 99. + + Witchery, _Frank Dempster Sherman_, 68. + + With a Rose, to Brunhilde, _Vachel Lindsay_, 127. + + "With memories and odors," _John Hall Wheelock_, 24. + + "Within the garden there is healthfulness," _Emile Verhaeren_, 6. + + Wonder Garden, A, _Frederic A. Whiting_, 266. + + Wood Song, _Sara Teasdale_, 284. + + + Years Afterward, _Nancy Byrd Turner_, 186. + + Yellow Warblers, _Katharine Lee Bates_, 67. + + + + +INDEX OF AUTHORS + + + A. E., 4. + + AIKEN, CONRAD, 25. + + AKINS, ZOE, 55. + + ANDERSON, MARGARET STEELE, 273. + + + BAILEY, L. H., 148. + + BARKER, ELSA, 135. + + BARRINGTON, PAULINE B., 32. + + BATES, KATHARINE LEE, 67, 123. + + BECKER, CHARLOTTE, 125. + + BIANCHI, MARTHA GILBERT DICKINSON, 185. + + BIDDLE, LIVINGSTON L., 131. + + BRANCH, ANNA HEMPSTEAD, 151, 179. + + BRERETON, M. G., 93. + + BROWN, ABBIE FARWELL, 112, 231, 244. + + BURNET, DANA, 191. + + BURR, AMELIA JOSEPHINE, 73, 235, 270. + + BURTON, RICHARD, 208, 254. + + BYNNER, WITTER, 30, 65. + + + CARMAN, BLISS, 23, 160, 169. + + CAWEIN, MADISON, 81, 169. + + CHOCANO, JOSE SANTOS, 34. + + CLEGHORN, SARAH N., 82. + + COATES, FLORENCE EARLE, 40, 111. + + COLE, SAMUEL VALENTINE, 162. + + COLUM, PADRAIC, 3. + + CONE, HELEN GRAY, 68. + + CONKLING, GRACE HAZARD, 63, 99, 130, 217, 250. + + CONKLING, HILDA, 236, 237. + + CRAPSEY, ADELAIDE, 55, 110. + + + DALY, T. A., 40, 143. + + DAVIES, WILLIAM H., 9, 172. + + DAVIS, FANNIE STEARNS, 100. + + DAWSON, MILES M., 104. + + DE LA MARE, WALTER, 178. + + DELAND, MARGARET, 116. + + DENISON, ELDREDGE, 189. + + DODGE, LOUIS, 139. + + DORR, JULIA C. R., 91, 170. + + DRISCOLL, LOUISE, 226. + + + E., A., 4. + + EASTAWAY, EDWARD, 276. + + EVANS, FLORENCE WILKINSON, 205. + + + FANE, VIOLET, 13. + + FENOLLOSA, MARY MCNEIL, 18, 221, 247. + + FISH, W. W. BLAIR, 219. + + FLETCHER, JOHN GOULD, 20. + + FOSTER, JEANNE ROBERT, 262. + + FROST, ROBERT, 5, 50, 92, 104. + + + GALE, NORMAN, 88. + + GARRISON, THEODOSIA, 132, 135, 150, 164. + + GIBSON, WILFRID WILSON, 138. + + GOING, CHARLES BUXTON, 99, 249. + + GOSSE, EDMUND, 126. + + GRIFFITH, WILLIAM, 62. + + GUEST, EDGAR A., 145. + + GUINEY, LOUISE IMOGEN, 268. + + GUITERMAN, ARTHUR, 31, 39, 66. + + GURNEY, DOROTHY FRANCES, 209, 255. + + + HAGEDORN, HERMANN, 61, 74. + + HALL, GERTRUDE, 102. + + HARDING, RUTH GUTHRIE, 28, 267. + + HAYES, JOHN RUSSELL, 45, 83. + + HERFORD, OLIVER, 142. + + HODGSON, RALPH, 275. + + HOLLEY, HORACE, 7. + + HOOKER, BRIAN, 181. + + HOPE, LAURENCE, 195. + + HOUSMAN, A. E., 155. + + HOWARD, KATHARINE, 240. + + HOWELLS, MILDRED, 188. + + HUBBELL, ROSE STRONG, 239. + + + JEWETT, SARAH ORNE, 263. + + JEWETT, SOPHIE, 207. + + JOHNSON, BURGES, 242. + + JOHNSON, ROBERT UNDERWOOD, 207. + + JONES, THOMAS S., JR., 36, 128, 168. + + + KEMP, HARRY, 14, 269. + + KENYON, JAMES B., 86. + + KETCHUM, ARTHUR, 156. + + KILMER, JOYCE, 165. + + KIMBALL, HANNAH PARKER, 48. + + KIRBY, ELIZABETH, 131. + + KREYMBORG, ALFRED, 158. + + + LEDWIDGE, FRANCIS, 26. + + LEE, AGNES, 124. + + LE GALLIENNE, RICHARD, 33, 60. + + LETTS, W. M., 110. + + LINDSAY, VACHEL, 107, 127. + + LINDSEY, WILLIAM, 138. + + LIVINGSTON, ROBERT, 230. + + LODGE, GEORGE CABOT, 21. + + LOWELL, AMY, 30, 72, 176, 203, 250, 283. + + + MCCARTHY, DENIS A., 22. + + MCGIFFERT, GERTRUDE HUNTINGTON, 46, 80, 211. + + MCLEOD, IRENE RUTHERFORD, 98. + + MCMILLAN, MARY, 51. + + MALLOCH, DOUGLAS, 36, 156. + + MARKHAM, CATHERINE, 152. + + MARKHAM, EDWIN, 76, 270, 284. + + MARTINEZ, R. AREVALO, 279. + + MASEFIELD, JOHN, 10, 257. + + MASTERS, EDGAR LEE, 277. + + MEYNELL, ALICE, 109, 123. + + MIDDLETON, RICHARD, 186. + + MIFFLIN, LLOYD, 159. + + MILLAY, EDNA ST. VINCENT, 49, 115, 190. + + MONROE, HARRIET, 153. + + MORGAN, ANGELA, 37, 149, 275. + + MOWRER, PAUL SCOTT, 75. + + MURRAY, ADA FOSTER, 106. + + + NAIDU, SAROJINI, 20, 122. + + NESBIT, E., 234. + + NOYES, ALFRED, 35. + + + O'BRIEN, EDWARD J., 6. + + O'CONOR, NORREYS JEPHSON, 133. + + OPPENHEIM, JAMES, 42. + + O SHEEL, SHAEMAS, 25. + + OXENHAM, JOHN, 278, 285. + + + PAI TA-SHUN, 204. + + PARMENTER, CATHERINE, 238. + + PATCH, KATE WHITING, 65. + + PATTERSON, ANTOINETTE DE COURSEY, 52, 72, 129, 202. + + PEABODY, JOSEPHINE PRESTON, 11, 125, 140. + + PEACH, ARTHUR WALLACE, 12, 77. + + PICKTHALL, MARJORIE L. C., 184. + + POWELL, ARTHUR, 19. + + + REESE, LIZETTE WOODWORTH, 27, 212, 218. + + RICE, CALE YOUNG, 258. + + RICE, JOHN PIERREPONT, 34. + + RICHARDS, LAURA E., 232. + + RILEY, JAMES WHITCOMB, 225. + + RITTENHOUSE, JESSIE B., 198. + + ROBINSON, CORINNE ROOSEVELT, 117. + + ROSS, CHARLES, 95. + + RUSSELL, GEORGE WILLIAM, 4. + + + SASSOON, SIEGFRIED, 102. + + SCHAUFFLER, ROBERT HAVEN, 259. + + SCOLLARD, CLINTON, 28, 48, 172, 195, 201. + + SCOTT, DUNCAN CAMPBELL, 121. + + SELINGER, EMILY, 243. + + SHARP, WILLIAM, 196. + + SHEPARD, ODELL, 63. + + SHERMAN, FRANK DEMPSTER, 68, 241. + + SMITH, MARION COUTHOUY, 75. + + SMITH, MAY RILEY, 260. + + STANTON, FRANK L., 69, 133. + + STEPHENS, JAMES, 71. + + STERLING, GEORGE, 127. + + STORK, CHARLES WHARTON, 50, 114. + + STRINGER, ARTHUR, 4. + + + TABB, JOHN B., 9, 105. + + TAGORE, RABINDRANATH, 200, 246. + + TEASDALE, SARA, 53, 199, 256, 262, 284. + + THIRLMERE, ROWLAND, 8. + + THOMAS, EDITH M., 54, 216. + + THOMAS, EDWARD, 276. + + TOWNE, CHARLES HANSON, 139, 173. + + TURNER, NANCY BYRD, 186. + + TYNAN, KATHARINE, 223, 273. + + + UNDERHILL, EVELYN, 153. + + UNDERWOOD, JOHN CURTIS, 264. + + UNTERMEYER, LOUIS, 108, 174. + + UPSON, ARTHUR, 179, 213. + + + VAN DYKE, HENRY, 265. + + VAN RENSSELAER, MRS. SCHUYLER, 57. + + VERHAEREN, EMILE, 6, 44, 136. + + VERNEDE, ROBERT ERNEST, 43. + + + WAGSTAFF, BLANCHE SHOEMAKER, 267. + + WALSH, THOMAS, 183, 194, 210. + + WATSON, ROSAMUND MARRIOTT, 181, 282. + + WATSON, WILLIAM, 212. + + WHEELOCK, JOHN HALL, 2, 24, 130. + + WHITE, JAMES TERRY, 183. + + WHITING, FREDERIC A., 134, 266. + + WHITNEY, HELEN HAY, 141, 239. + + WIDDEMER, MARGARET, 87, 245. + + WILCOX, ELLA WHEELER, 94, 280. + + WILKINSON, MARGUERITE, 221. + + WOOD, CLEMENT, 90. + + WOOD, HENRY A. WISE, 101. + + WOODBERRY, GEORGE EDWARD, 120, 255. + + + YEATS, W. B., 177. + + + + + The Riverside Press + CAMBRIDGE, MASSACHUSETTS + U. S. A. + + * * * * * + +Transcriber's Notes: + +Punctuation and obvious spelling errors repaired, but variant spellings +retained. + +Inconsistent indentations within a poem were retained. + +In original, book title "Melody of Earth" appears twice at beginning, +and "Index of Titles" and "Index of Authors" headings appear twice +before their respective indexes. These redundancies were removed. + +Shaemas O Sheel: name occurs consistently with no punctuation after the +O. + +Spaces were removed from spaced contractions: for example, "'t was" to +"'twas," "that 's" to "that's," "did n't" to "didn't." + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Melody of Earth, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MELODY OF EARTH *** + +***** This file should be named 38438.txt or 38438.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/8/4/3/38438/ + +Produced by Charlene Taylor, JoAnn Greenwood, and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net +(This file was produced from images generously made +available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +https://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +https://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at https://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit https://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including including checks, online payments and credit card +donations. To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/38438.zip b/38438.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..e9a99b2 --- /dev/null +++ b/38438.zip diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..dfc19f6 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #38438 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/38438) |
