The Garden

by


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?
div does not fill when I defer javascript

6

facebook share button twitter share button reddit share button share on pinterest pinterest


Add The Garden to your library.

Return to the Sara Teasdale library , or . . . Read the next poem; The Ghost

© 2022 AmericanLiterature.com