The Garden
by Sara Teasdale
My heart is a garden tired with autumn, Heaped with bending asters and dahlias heavy and dark, In the hazy sunshine, the garden remembers April, The drench of rains and a snow-drop quick and clear as a spark; Daffodils blowing in the cold wind of morning, And golden tulips, goblets holding the rain, The garden will be hushed with snow, forgotten soon, forgotten, After the stillness, will spring come again?
Crowd Score: 6.0
Want to save this story?
Create a free account to build your personal library of favorite stories
Sign Up - It's Free!Already have an account? Log in