Gold-green poplars slowly wave O'er the Winter's mossy grave; Ferns are pointing curly fingers Where the dead year's bracken lingers.
We have seen a hedgehog hide Prickle-less to greet his bride; Watched the baby otter shiver Ere he plunged into the river.
We are critics of the bees, Watch how they despoil and seize From each cowslip saffron bounty; Uncaught robbers of the county!
All the keenings of the bat, Whimperings of the water-rat; All the hopes of sister flowers Come to us by gossip showers.
Tortoise-shelled butterflies, On their dew-pearl'd wingful sighs, Bear the news of elfin squabbles; "Wounded Oberon still hobbles."
We are darlings of the Spring, All her secrets she doth bring, Runes of magic she discloses To her confidant-Primroses.
We shall feel her joy-winged sigh, When she hears the Summer's cry: We shall droop and die of grieving, When our lovely Spring is leaving.
When I am old, so very old That all my own have passed away, And I await Life's evening-gold, A little figure, lone and grey; I'll keep a garden, green and bright, Then I'll forget approaching night.
A garden dear--with quaint-cut yews-- Bound by a hedge of bronzing beech, And just before them I shall choose The great white lilies that beseech, With upturned faces, pure and staid, Love from the little Mother Maid.
And close beside the lichened wall, Lilies, aflame like scarlet fire, Shall watch the little swallows fall From out their nestlet in the byre; And where the path strays to the stream, The golden ones shall dying dream.
Then where the garden greets the wood, A host of lily-bells shall ring Their message clear that "all is good Where God reigns over everything." My garden-beauty, all shall see, Is mirrored from Eternity.
A rain of petals the pear-trees give, As a pearly toll for the right to live.
Fragile petals that gently fall, Like tears down the face of the old grey wall.
Around the bole, where the grasses grow, Is a circle white as of melting snow.
An enchanted circle, flower-entwined, Where hyacinth fingers the grasses bind.
The youngling thrushes soon learn how To alight and shake the flowers from each bough.
The swallows tell their babes such tales! That the tree is a ship with flower-white sails,