The Little Garden

 

 The Little Garden 
by Anne Hamilton Gordon
Illustrated by Rose O'Neill

 

There is a little garden that I love.

As secret as a child, a gentle place.

And there, like smiles across a well-loved face.

The quiet lights and shadows seem to move.

 

There, rising rosy from the morning mist,

The flowers stand a-tiptoe in their beds.

And, all aquiver, lift their little heads

Like eager children waiting to be kissed.

 

And there the lilies, when the breezes pass,

Like gracious ladies curtsey from their height;

And the warm roses, tremulous with delight,

Lavish their glowing petals to the grass.

 

Sometimes the moonlight lulls the languid breeze.

And, spreading in the garden hushed and fair.

With silent music fills the listening air . . .

And drips like fluent silver from the trees.

 

There may I neatly lay my will away.

Safe in the secret of the brooding close.

Where breezes scattering sweetness from the rose

Drift through my heart and scatter its dismay.

 

O little garden, sweetly unpossessed.

Today I came to you, a tired child

Uncomforted . . . and lo! I thought you similed

Ineffably, and took me to your breast.