 | The Poems of Richard Watson Gilder |  |
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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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.
Looked with awe on the wondrous birth,
And knew that the last flower of the garden
Was something not of earth.
| The Poems of Richard Watson Gilder | |