1. PART I
IN HELENA'S GARDEN
THE SUNSET WINDOW
Through the garden sunset-window
Shines the sky of rose;
Deep the melting red, and deeper,
Lovelier it grows.
Musically falls the fountain;
Twilight voices chime;
Visibly upon the cloud-lands
Tread the feet of Time.
Evening winds from down the valley
Stir the waters cool;
Break the dark, empurpled shadows
In the marble pool.
Rich against the high-walled grayness
The crimson lily glows,
And near, O near, one well-loved presence
Dream-like comes and goes.
“THE GRAY WALLS OF THE GARDEN”
The gray walls of the garden
Hold many and many a bloom;
A flame of red against the gray
Is lightning in the gloom.
The gray walls of the garden
Hold grassy walks between
Bright beds of yellow blossoms,
Golden against the green.
And in the roof of the arbor
Leaves woven through and through,—
Great grape leaves, making shadows,—
Shine green against the blue.
And, O, in the August weather
What wonders new are seen!
Long beds of azure blossoms
Cool blue against the green.
The gray walls of the garden
Hold paths of pure delight,
And, in the emerald, blooms of pearl
Are white against the night.
THE MARBLE POOL
The marble pool, like the great sea, hath moods—
Fierce angers, slumbers, deep beatitudes.
In sudden gusts the pool, in lengthened waves,—
As in a mimic tempest,—tosses and raves.
In the still, drowsy, dreaming midday hours
It sleeps and dreams among the dreaming flowers.
'Neath troubled skies the surface of its sleep
Is fretted; how the big drops rush and leap!
Now 't is a mirror where the sky of night
Sees its mysterious face of starry light;
Or where the tragic sunset is reborn,
Or the sweet, virginal mystery of morn.
One little pool holds ocean, brink to brink;
One little heart can hold the world, I think.
THE TABLE ROUND
I
What think you of the Table Round
Which the garden's rustic arbor
In pride doth harbor?
And what its weight, how many a pound?
Or shall you reckon that in tons?
For this is of earth's mighty ones:
A mill-stone 't is, that turns no more,
But, on a pier sunk deep in ground,
Like a ship that's come to shore,
Content among its flowery neighbors
It rests forever from its labors.
II
Now no more 'mid grind and hammer
Are the toiling moments past,
But amid a milder clamor
Stays it fast.
For the Garden Lady here,
When the summer sky is clear,
With her bevy of bright daughters
(Each worth a sonnet)
To the tune of plashing waters
Serves the tea upon it.
III
And when Maria, and when Molly,
Frances, Alice, Grace, Cecilia,
Clara, Bess, and Pretty Polly,
Lolah and the dark Amelia,
Come with various other ladies,
Certain boys, and grown-ups graver—
Then, be sure, not one afraid is
To let his wit give forth its flavor,
With the fragrant odor blent
Of the Souchong, and the scent
Of the roses and sweet-peas
And other blossoms sweet as these.
Then, indeed, doth joy abound
About the granite table round,
And the stream of laughter flowing
Almost sets the old stone going.
THE SUN-DIAL
On the sun-dial in the garden
The great sun keeps the time;
A faint, small moving shadow,
And we know the worlds are in rhyme:
And if once that shadow should falter
By the space of a child's eye-lash—
The seas would devour the mountains,
And the stars together crash.
“SOMETHING MISSING FROM THE GARDEN”
Something missing from the garden?
But all 's bright there;
Color in the daytime,
Perfume in the night there.
Something wanting in the garden?
Yet the blossoms
Bring the hum-birds to the sweetness
In their bosoms.
And by day the sunlight golden
On the granite
Glistens, and by night the silver starlight
From some near planet.
Something missing from the garden?
But the mountain
Ceaseless pours a secret streamlet
Filmy from the fountain;
And that streamlet winds blow, wave-like,
Down the flowers,
And, in the mist, faint, flickering rainbows
Flash through mimic showers.
Something wanting in the garden
When all 's bright there?
Color in the daytime,
Perfume in the night there?
Then what missing from the garden
Spoils its pleasance?—
Just a breath of something human;
Just one presence.
THREE FLOWERS OF THE GARDEN
Three blossoms in a happy garden grow—
Have care, for this one, lo, is white as any snow:
Its name is Peace.
Three flowers—and one, in hue, a delicate gold;
A harsh breath, then its golden leaves shall droop and fold
Its name is Joy.
Three flowers—and one is crimson, rich and strong;
This will, if well entreated, all others outlive long:
Its name is Love.
EARLY AUTUMN
The garden still is green
And green the trees around—
But the winds are roaring overhead
And branches strew the ground.
And to-day on the garden pool
Floated an autumn leaf:
How rush the seasons, rush the years,
And, O, how life is brief!
THE LAST FLOWER OF THE GARDEN
One by one the flowers of the garden
To autumn yielded as waned the sun;
So prisoners, called by the cruel Terror,
To death went, one by one.
Roses, and many a delicate blossom,
Down fell their heads, in the breezes keen,
One by one; and the frost of autumn
Was the blade of their guillotine.
And at last an hour when the emerald pathways
Grew from green to a wintry white;
And a new, strange beauty came into the garden
In the full moon's flooding light.
For a radiance struck on the columned fountain
As it shot to the stars in a trembling stream,
And a rainbow, springing above the garden,
Was the dream of a dream in a dream.
And we who loved well that place of flowers
Looked with awe on the wondrous birth,
And knew that the last flower of the garden
Was something not of earth.
