A Benedictine Garden 1451 Living my child-life over again, With the further hope of a fallen delight, Blithe as the birds and wise as the bees. In green old gardens, hidden away From sight of revel and sound of strife,— To dream my dreams, and to love my love; Violet Fane [18 A BENEDICTINE GARDEN THROUGH all the wind-blown aisles of May, Tulips, in faded splendor drest, Brood o'er their beds, a slumbrous gloom. Swells the silk housing of her breast. The Lilac, drunk to ecstasy, Breaks her full flagons on the air, O cowlèd Legion of the Cross, Through abnegation and through loss! Men but make monuments of sin No woman's voice takes sweeter note Hung on a dewdrop's quivering throat. Than world's delight o'erfleets thy sod; The peace of God. Alice Brown [1857 AN AUTUMN GARDEN My tent stands in a garden Tilled by the rain and the sunshine, About it are golden woodlands Of tulip and hickory; On the open ridge behind it You may mount to a glimpse of sea,- The far-off, blue, Homeric Rim of the world's great shield, A border of boundless glamor For the soul's familiar field. In purple and gray-wrought lichen. An Autumn Garden The crickets work and chirrup The odorous wild grape clambers Over the tumbling wall, And through the autumnal quiet T 1 Sharing time's freshness and fragrance, To wisdom serene and whole. Shall we not grow with the asters?- Never reluctant nor sad, Not counting the cost of being, Living to dare and be glad. Shall we not lift with the crickets A chorus of ready cheer, Braving the frost of oblivion, The deep red cones of the sumach Giving them glory of color, Here in the sifted sunlight On the beauty and worth of being, 1453 For the ancient and virile nurture For fire and running water, When the mellow lights are kindled In the lamps of the centuries. For those who wrought aforetime, Led by the mystic strain To strive for the larger freedom, For plenty and peace and playtime, For art and learning and friendship, Where beneficent truth is supreme, Those everlasting cities Built on the hills of dream; For all things growing and goodly Out of the mortal seed. But most of all for the spirit That can not rest nor bide The Deserted Garden 1455 But still inspired and driven, Bliss Carman [1861 UNGUARDED THE Mistress of the Roses And through her garden closes See on its rustic spindles The sundrop's amber fire! And the goldenrod enkindles The embers on its spire. The dodder's shining tangle From the meadow brook steals in, Where in this shadowed angle The pale lace-makers spin. Here's Black-Eyed Susan weeping And Bouncing Bet comes creeping Now in this pleasant weather So sweetly reconciled→→ They dwell and dream together, The kin of court and wild. Ada Foster Murray [18 THE DESERTED GARDEN I MIND me in the days departed, To a garden long deserted.: |