Part 41 (2/2)

Nor could the most colossal mind of man Create one little seed of plant or vine Without a.s.sistance from the First Great Plan, Without the aid divine.

Who but a G.o.d Could draw from light and moisture, heat and cold, And fas.h.i.+on in earth's mold, A mult.i.tude of blooms to deck one sod?

Who but a G.o.d?

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 gra.s.s 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 WILc.o.x

”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 s.h.i.+ning 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 gra.s.ses 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.

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