 | In memory of W. V.: William Canton |  |
173
GARDEN-FIRES
What though the snow gleams on the hill!
The sweet west wind blows fresh and clear;
The world feels new.
Tree-tops are full of heavenly blue;
The hollyhock and daffodil
Are shooting leaf and spear;
The rosebush starts from sleep.
And, redding plots and walks,
The gardener rakes into a fiery heap
The dead year's withered leaves and shrivelled stalks.
The sweet west wind blows fresh and clear;
The world feels new.
Tree-tops are full of heavenly blue;
The hollyhock and daffodil
Are shooting leaf and spear;
The rosebush starts from sleep.
And, redding plots and walks,
The gardener rakes into a fiery heap
The dead year's withered leaves and shrivelled stalks.
Blow, wind of heaven, and make me whole!
Oh, blue of heaven, fill full my soul!
And, while the new-born flower springs,
I too will burn all dead and worthless things.
Oh, blue of heaven, fill full my soul!
And, while the new-born flower springs,
I too will burn all dead and worthless things.
| In memory of W. V.: William Canton | |