Garden Dream Poem by Margaret Widdemer

THEY cried before my gate at morning-mirth,
'Come out and help us burn the weeds from earth!'

But I was planting out my garden-close
With wands of lily and with slips of rose,
And their scented wavings made the air so sweet
That I could not listen to the trampling feet . . .
(Yet there blew a perfume from the garden-bed
That changed the evil weeds to white and red!)

They called before my gate at noontide-breath,
'Come out and help us check the dance of death!'

But I was dancing in a woodland ring
With brown wood-women for my partnering,
And fauns that fluted till the green glades rang,
And all I heard was what the wood-birds sang. . . .
(Yet there came a music from the wood-folk's flute
That made the drums of evil kind and mute!)

They cried before my gate at sweet of night,
'Come out and help us scourge the black world white!'

But I was weaving me a golden gown
All strung with silver lilies up and down

With moon-white laces that should foam and fall,
And I could not hear their lashing words at all . . .
(Yet there streamed a light from out the golden gown
That cleansed the blackness of each evil town!)

And every poor man had a garden-close
With wands of lilies and with slips of rose,
And every poor child danced the woodlands through
And sang and fluted merry songs he knew,
And every woman had a golden gown
Gay-strung with silver ribbons up and down,
And we all went singing how the world is fair
And warm the summer light and sweet the air!