University of Virginia Library

GARDEN SECRETS.

THE DISPUTE.

The Grass.
I felt upon me, as she passed, her feet.

The Beech.
'Neath my green shade she sheltered from the heat.

A Rose.
She plucked me as she passed, and in her breast
Wore me, and I was to her beauty prest.

The Wind.
And now ye lie neglected, withering fast,
And the grass withers too, and when have pass'd
These golden summer days, O Beech, no more
She 'll sit beneath thy shade; but I endure,
To kiss her when I will; so more than ye
Am I made blest in my felicity.

WHAT THE ROSE SAW.

The Rose.
O Lily sweet, I saw a pleasant sight.

The Lily.
Where saw you it, and when?

The Rose.
Here; when the night
Lay calmly over all and covered us,
And no wind blew, however tremulous,
I heard afar the light fall of her feet
And murmur of her raiment soft and sweet.

The Lily.
What said she to you when she came anear?

The Rose.
No word, but o'er me bent till I could hear
The beating of her heart, and feel her blood
Swell to a blossom that which was a bud.
Alas! I have no words to tell the bliss
When on my trembling petals fell her kiss;
Sweeter than soft rain falling after heat,
Or dew at dawn, was that kiss soft and sweet.
Then fell another shadow on the ground,
And for a little space there was no sound.
I knew who stood beside her — saw his face
Shining and happy in that happy place —
I knew not what they said; but this I know
They kissed and passed: where think you did they go?

THE ROSE AND THE WIND.

Dawn.

The Rose.
When think you comes the Wind,
The Wind that kisses me and is so kind?
Lo, how the Lily sleeps! her sleep is light;
Would I were like the Lily, pale and white!
Will the Wind come?

The Beech.
Perchance for you too soon.

The Rose.
If not, how could I live until the noon?
What, think you, Beech-tree, makes the Wind delay?
Why comes he not at breaking of the day?

The Beech.
Hush, child, and, like the Lily, go to sleep.

The Rose.
You know I cannot.

The Beech.
Nay, then, do not weep.
(After a pause.)
Your lover comes, be happy now, O Rose!
He softly through my bending branches goes.
Soon he shall come, and you shall feel his kiss.

The Rose.
Already my flushed heart grows faint with bliss;
Love, I have longed for you through all the night.

The Wind.
And I to kiss your petals warm and bright.

The Rose.
Laugh round me, Love, and kiss me; it is well.
Nay, have no fear, the Lily will not tell.

Morning.

The Rose.
'T was dawn when first you came; and now the sun
Shines brightly and the dews of dawn are done.
'T is well you take me so in your embrace;
But lay me back again into my place,
For I am worn, perhaps with bliss extreme.

The Wind.
Nay, you must wake, Love, from this childish dream.

The Rose.
'T is you, Love, who seem changed; your laugh is loud,
And 'neath your stormy kiss my head is bowed.
O Love, O Wind, a space will you not spare?

The Wind.
Not while your petals are so soft and fair.

The Rose.
My buds are blind with leaves, they cannot see, —
O Love, O Wind, will you not pity me?

Evening.

The Beech.
O Wind, a word with you before you pass;
What did you to the Rose that on the grass
Broken she lies and pale, who loved you so?

The Wind.
Roses must live and love, and winds must blow.

THE GARDEN'S LOSS.

A Lily.
He will not speak to us again:
No more the sudden summer rain
Will fall from off his trembling leaves:
Even the scentless Tulip grieves.
Ah me! the loud noise of that night,
And that fierce blaze of blinding light
That slew him in the midst of bliss —
Reach out, O Rose, and let us kiss!

The Rose.
He was a friend to all indeed;
Even the wild unlovely Weed
Loved him and clove unto his root:
When next winds blow he shall be mute.

The Lily.
He was the noblest of all trees.

A Tulip.
Your sorrow cannot bring you ease.

The Lily.
Still we must mourn so great a one.

The Rose.
I would the summer-time were done!
The birds we loved sang in his boughs,
And in his branches made their house;
All graciously he bowed and swayed,
And, when of winds we were afraid,
How tenderly his boughs he moved,
A loving tree and well beloved.

An Elm.
He was a noble tree and vast;
His branches revelled in the blast:
I always took him for our king.
Yet better that he was so slain,
In midst of his loved wind and rain,
Than some sharp axe should lay him low.

The Rose.
Better! but now I only know
He shall not speak again to me—
Nor, Lily, shall he speak to thee.