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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. 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