A Remembrance of Autumn / Adelaide Procter

 

A Remembrance of Autumn

Nothing stirs the sunny silence,
    Save the drowsy humming of the bees
        Round the rich ripe peaches on the wall,
    And the south wind sighing in the trees,
        And the dead leaves rustling as they fall:
    While the swallows, one by one, are gathering
        All impatient to be on the wing,
    And to wander from us seeking
                Their beloved spring!

Cloudless rise the azure heavens!
    Only vaporous wreaths of snowy white
        Nestle in the grey hill's rugged side;
    And the golden woods are bathed in light,
        Dying if they must, with kingly pride:
    While the swallows, in the blue air wheeling,
        Circle now an eager, fluttering band, 

    Ready to depart and leave us
                For a brighter land!

But a voice is sounding sadly,
    Telling of a glory that has been;
        Of a day that faded all too fast:
    See afar through the blue air serene,
        Where the swallows wing their way at last,
    And our hearts perchance as sadly wandering,
        Vainly seeking for a long-lost day,
    While we watch the far-off swallows,
                Flee with them away!

~~
Adelaide Procter (1825-1864)

from Legends and Lyrics: Second series, 1861

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

Adelaide Procter biography 

Oxana Maher, Walled Garden in Autumn, 2020. CC BY-SA 2.0, Wikimedia Commons.

Approach of Winter / William Carlos Williams

Approach of Winter

 
The half-stripped trees
struck by a wind together,
bending all,
the leaves flutter drily
and refuse to let go
or driven like hail
stream bitterly out to one side
and fall
where the salvias, hard carmine,—
like no leaf that ever was —
edge the bare garden.

~~
William Carlos Williams (1883-1963)
from Complete Collected Poems, 1906-1938, 1938

[Poem is in the public domain in Canada and the United States]

Trees in the Wind, November 2007. Photograph taken by Dori (dori@merr.info). 

William Carlos Williams biography

A Trivial Day in Early Autumn / Pearl Andelson Sherry

A Trivial Day in Early Autumn

from Worker in Marble

A China lily cup
Upon a pool
Lifts up
Its bowl.

Over the pale sky
Frail clouds;
A butterfly
About the garden flowers.

Subtle
The wind
Among
The falling leaves.

~~
Pearl Andelson Sherry (1899-1966)
from Poetry, December 1922

[Poem is in the public domain in Canada and the United States]

Pearl Andelson Sherry biography

Francis Turner / Edgar Lee Masters

Francis Turner

I could not run or play
In boyhood.
In manhood I could only sip the cup,
Not drink –
For scarlet-fever left my heart diseased.
Yet I lie here
Soothed by a secret none but Mary knows:
There is a garden of acacia,
Catalpa trees, and arbors sweet with vines
– There on that afternoon in June
By Mary’s side –
Kissing her with my soul upon my lips
It suddenly took flight.

~~
Edgar Lee Masters (1868-1950)
from Spoon River Anthology, 1915

[Poem is in the public domain in Canada and the United States]

Edgar Lee Masters biography

A Day in Spring / Richard Westall (XIV)

A Day in Spring

XIV

Through the garden now we'll range;
View its sweets and mark their change;
Beauteous fav'rites of a day!
Oh! how sweet the breath of May!
Oh! how rich her form appears,
Bounteous smiling thro' her tears,
As the day-star riding high,
Clears the lately clouded sky!
— Never let my banks be free,
From the flaunting piony;
Or the flower that bears the name
Of the never dying flame;
Or the tulip's pencil'd bell,
Or the pink, with spicy smell:
While beside them lovely grows
Flora's pride, the mossy rose,
And the lily's breast of snow
Blends the heaven-tinctur'd glow:
Let the hollyhock be nigh,
Deeply steep'd in purple dye;
I delight to see him drest
In his dark imperial vest,
Branching wide, and waving loose,
Drunk he seems with Tyrian juice.

~~

Read the rest of the poem here

Richard Westall (1765-1836)

from A Day in Spring, and other poems, 1808

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

Richard Westell biography

A Garden of Love / Lilian Leveridge

A Garden of Love

Mother, if my love for you
Could express itself in flowers,
Were each prayer a shower of dew
In the morn and evening hours,
You would walk in blossomed ways,
Fair and fragrant, all your days.

Blooms that clothed the vales and hills
In the springtides long ago —
Crocuses and daffodils,
Hawthorn, lilies, white as snow,
Primroses and cuckoo flowers
You would find within your bowers.

Pearly daisies, pink and white,
Marigolds and meadow rue,
All would bloom for your delight.
Here would wait to welcome you
Every flower that loved the May
In the homeland far away.

Flowers that on an alien shore
Made your homesick heart grow glad,
Till you loved it more and more,
Found the sweetness in the sad —
Blowing by the northern streams,
Do they greet you still in dreams?

Trilliums that starred the dells,
Mayflowers’ rosy, perfumed bells,
Columbines o’er hill and vale,
Violets yellow, purple, white —
Countless well-springs of delight!

You, who loved all lovely things,
Taught my heart to love them, too
Essences of all the springs
That my happy childhood knew,
Spirit-sweet, invisible,
Linger all about you still

Take this little wreath of verse,
With the blossoms that I send —
Dearest in God’s universe,
Best of sweethearts, truest friend!
Fairest flowers may fade, but never
Love that lives and blooms for ever.

~~
Lilian Leveridge (1879-1953)
from The Blossom Trail, 1932

[Poem is in the public domain in Canada]

Lilian Leveridge biography

The Day / Theodore Spencer

The Day

The day was a year at first
When children ran in the garden;
The day shrank down to a month
When the boys played ball.

The day was a week thereafter
When young men walked in the garden;
The day was itself a day
When love grew tall.

The day shrank down to an hour
When old men limped in the garden;
The day will last forever
When it is nothing at all.

~~
Theodore Spencer (1902-1949)
from Poems, 1940-1947, 1948

[Poem is in the public domain in Canada and the European Union]

Theodore Spencer biography

November Snow / F.O. Call

November Snow

My garden is a ghost of summer’s glory —
A dim reminder of departed things —
Dead flowers haunted by the ghostly wings
Of bees upon a honey-seeking foray,
A few brown quivering stalks that tell the story
Of sun-drenched summer hours and far-off springs,
White shivering birches where no oriole sings,
Dark spires of spruce with snow bent down and hoary.

This cannot be the place with tulips glowing
Through which at sunset humming-birds would dart
On unseen wings. The drifting snow is blowing
Along bare pathways leading far apart.
O strange white blossoms in my garden growing!
O strange white silence fallen on my heart!

~~
F.O. Call (1878-1956)
from Blue Homespun, 1924

[Poem is in the public domain in Canada]

F.O. Call biography

The Parterre / E.H. Palmer

The Parterre

I don't know any greatest treat
    As sit him in a gay parterre,
And sniff one up the perfume sweet
    Of every roses buttoning there.

It only want my charming miss
    Who make to blush the self red rose;
Oh! I have envy of to kiss
    The end's tip of her splendid nose.

Oh! I have envy of to be
    What grass 'neath her pantoffle push,
And too much happy seemeth me
    The margaret which her vestige crush.

But I will meet her nose at nose,
    And take occasion for her hairs,
And indicate her all my woes,
    That she in fine agree my prayers.

         |The Envoy| 

I don't know any greatest treat
    As sit him in a gay parterre,
With Madame who is too more sweet
    Than every roses buttoning there.

~~
E.H. Palmer (1840-1882)

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

E.H. Palmer biography

In a Garden / Radclyffe Hall

In a Garden

In the garden a thousand roses,
     A vine of jessamine flower,
Sweetpeas in coquettish poses,
     Sweetbrier with its fragrant dower.

There are hollyhocks tall and slender,
     And marigolds gay and fair,
And sunflowers in glowing splendour,
     Geraniums rich and rare;

And the wee, white, innocent daisy,
     Half hidden amid the lawn;
A bee grown drowsy and lazy
     On honey he's drunk since dawn

Is reposing with wings extended
     On some soft, passionate rose,
Aglow with a blush more splendid
     Than ever a fair cheek knows.

While a thrush, in the ivy swinging
     That clusters over the gate,
Athrob with the spring is singing,
     And ardently calls his mate.

For the spirit of all sweet odours
     The soul of a June unborn
Has hallowed my humble garden,
     And whispered to me since dawn.

And the flowers in a prayer of rapture,
     Bent low to that spell divine,
Are wafting their sweetest incense
     In clouds, at his sunlit shrine.

~~
Radclyffe Hall (1880-1943)
from 'Twixt Earth and Stars, 1906

[Poem is in the public domain in Canada, the United States, and the European Union]

Radclyffe Hall biography

An October Garden / Christina Rossetti

An October Garden

In my Autumn garden I was fain
To mourn among my scattered roses;
Alas for that last rosebud which uncloses
To Autumn’s languid sun and rain
When all the world is on the wane!
Which has not felt the sweet constraint of June,
Nor heard the nightingale in tune.

Broad-faced asters by my garden walk,
You are but coarse compared with roses:
More choice, more dear that rosebud which uncloses
Faint-scented, pinched, upon its stalk,
That least and last which cold winds balk;
A rose it is though least and last of all,
A rose to me though at the fall.

~~
Christina Rossetti (1830-1894)
from Poetical Works, 1904

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

Christina Rossetti biography

"An October Garden". Courtesy Aimee Reads Poetry.

Spring / Andrew Lang

Spring

(after Meleager)

Now the bright crocus flames, and now
The slim narcissus takes the rain,
And, straying o'er the mountain's brow,
The daffodilies bud again.
The thousand blossoms wax and wane
On wold, and heath, and fragrant bough,
But fairer than the flowers art thou,
Than any growth of hill or plain.

Ye gardens, cast your leafy crown,
That my Love's feet may tread it down,
Like lilies on the lilies set:
My Love, whose lips are softer far
Than drowsy poppy petals are,
And sweeter than the violet!

~~
Andrew Lang (1844-1912)
from Ballades in Blue China, 1888

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

Andrew Lang biography

Garden (I) / H.D.

Garden

I

You are clear
O rose, cut in rock,
hard as the descent of hail.
I could scrape the colour
from the petals
like spilt dye from a rock.
If I could break you
I could break a tree.
If I could stir
I could break a tree —
I could break you.

~~
H.D. (1886-1961)
from Sea Garden, 1916

[Poem is in the public domain in Canada and the United States]

H.D. biography

The May Tree / Radclyffe Hall

The May Tree

A garden in the month of May, 

The fading of a golden day 

     Upon the tulip flowers. 

An anthem sung by little birds, 

The sigh more eloquent than words 

     Of earth to listening hours. 

And shadows . . . like the fringe that lies 

On cheek, at close of drowsy eyes, 

     And paths, grown damp with dew; 

And secret places, where to tread 

Were to disturb the bridal bed 

     Of creatures born anew. 

And fairer than each living thing 

That stirs with longings of the Spring, 

     A May tree, bearing flower. 

Like some young nymph the sunlight charms 

She stretches forth her slender arms, 

     New decked with leafy dower, 

While through her wondrous, living form 

The sap of life leaps strong and warm, 

     Awaking from repose 

The folded buds to know the Spring, 

It seems I almost hear them sing 

     For rapture as it flows. 

Ay! and it seems as though my heart 

Strained upward, but to take some part 

     In that sweet hymn of praise; 

As though my pulses quicker beat, 

To see perfection so complete 

     Revealed to my gaze. 

As though the problem of unrest 

Were solved at last, in this behest 

     To silently fulfil; 

And deeper still, my soul perceives 

The mighty Presence that conceives 

     Such beauty at Its will. 

~~

Radclyffe Hall (1880-1943)

from 'Twixt Earth and Stars, 1906

[Poem is in the public domain in Canada, the United States, and the European Union]

Radclyffe Hall biography

April Aubade / Sylvia Plath

April Aubade

Worship this world of watercolor mood
in glass pagodas hung with veils of green
where diamonds jangle hymns within the blood
and sap ascends the steeple of the vein.

A saintly sparrow jargons madrigals
to waken dreamers in the milky dawn,
while tulips bow like a college of cardinals
before that papal paragon, the sun.

Christened in a spindrift of snowdrop stars,
where on pink-fluted feet the pigeons pass
and jonquils sprout like solomon's metaphors,
my love and I go garlanded with grass.

Again we are deluded and infer
that somehow we are younger than we were.

~~
Sylvia Plath (1932-1963)
from the Christian Science Monitor, 1955

[Poem is in the public domain in Canada]

Sylvia Plath biography

An Easter Song / Richard Le Gallienne

An Easter Song

Arise, my heart, and sing thy Easter song!
     To the great anthem of returning bird,
     And sweetening bud, and green ascending blade,
          Add thou thy word.
Long was the winter and the waiting long;
     Heart, there were hours, indeed, thou wert afraid,
          So long the Spring delayed.

Shut in the Winter's alabaster tomb,
     So white and still the sleeping Summer lay
          That dead she seemed;
And none might know how in her magic side
     Slept the young Spring, and moved,
          And smiled, and dreamed.
Behold, she wakes again, and, open-eyed,
     Gazes, in wonder, 'round the leafy room,
At the young flowers. Upon this Easter Day
     Awaken, too, my heart, open thine eyes,
     And from thy seeming death thou, too, arise.

Arise, my heart; yea, go thou forth and sing!
     Join thou thy voice to all this music sweet
     Of crowding leaf and busy, building wing,
          And falling showers;
The murmur soft of little lives new-born,
     The armies of the grass, the million feet
          Of marching flowers.

How sweetly blows the Resurrection horn
     Across the meadows, over the far hills!
     In the soul's garden a new sweetness stirs,
         And the heart fills,
As in and out the mind flow the soft airs.
     Arise, my heart, and sing, this Easter morn;
     In the year's resurrection do thy part,
          Arise, my heart!

~~
Richard Le Gallienne (1866-1947)
from New Poems, 1910

[Poem is in the public domain in Canada and the United States]

Richard Le Gallienne biography

Lilies and Violets / Mary Gilmore

Lilies and Violets

I wait in a garden sweet,
     Lilies are there and violets
And in the midst (O, heart, a-beat!)
     She whom I love   . . . who me forgets
          Walking amid her violets.

~~
Mary Gilmore (1865-1962)
from Marri'd, and other verses, 1910

[Poem is in the public domain in Canada and the United States]

Mary Gilmore biography

December / Dollie Radford

December

No gardener need go far to find
     The Christmas rose,
The fairest of the flowers that mark
     The sweet Year’s close:
Nor be in quest of places where
     The hollies grow,
Nor seek for sacred trees that hold
     The mistletoe.
All kindly tended gardens love
     December days,
And spread their latest riches out
     In winter’s praise.
But every gardener’s work this month
     Must surely be
To choose a very beautiful
     Big Christmas tree,
And see it through the open door
     In triumph ride,
To reign a glorious reign within
     At Christmas‐tide.

~~

Dollie Radford (1858-1920)
from The Young Gardeners' Kalendar, 1904

[Poem is in the public domain in Canada, the United States, and the European Union]

Dollie Radford biography

Gethsemane / Rudyard Kipling

Gethsemane

The Garden called Gethsemane
   In Picardy it was,
And there the people came to see
   The English soldiers pass.
We used to pass — we used to pass
   Or halt, as it might be,
And ship our masks in case of gas
   Beyond Gethsemane.

The Garden called Gethsemane,
   It held a pretty lass,
But all the time she talked to me
   I prayed my cup might pass.
The officer sat on the chair,
   The men lay on the grass,
And all the time we halted there
   I prayed my cup might pass.

It didn’t pass — it didn’t pass —
   It didn’t pass from me.
I drank it when we met the gas
   Beyond Gethsemane.

~~
Rudyard Kipling (1865-1936)
from The Years Between, 1919

[Poem is in the public domain in Canada, the United States, and the European Union]

Rudaryd Kipling biography

Saturday Afternoon in the Garden / Caroline Blanche Elizabeth Lindsay

Saturday Afternoon in the Garden

Peace o'er the landscape; through the high thin air
"God's bows and arrows," dark-wing'd swallows, cleave.
And on the warm hillside the green hops weave
Their graceful garlands that full harvest bear.
Here, in the border, rain-washed, all things fair
Incline their heads to rest, for herald eve
Thus early doth the Sabbath hours perceive,
And every fragrant blossom breathes a prayer.

Then fret no more, my heart, but steep thyself
In tender twilight and refreshing dew,
And with calm Nature vigil keep awhile ;
Put by all daily toil, all thought of pelf;
Not less for grace 'mid leafy alleys sue
Than in some grand cathedral's vaulted aisle.

~~
Caroline Blanche Elizabeth Lindsay (1844-1912)
from Poems (Selected), 1907

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

Caroline Blanche Elizabeth Lindsay biography