My Garden Poem by Caroline Howard Gilman

MY garden, fresh and beautiful! — the spell of frost is o'er,
And earth sends out its varied leaves, a rich and lavish store;
My heart too breaks its wintry chain, with stem and leaf and flower,
And glows in hope and happiness amid the spring-tide hour.

'T is sunset in my garden —the flowers and buds have caught
Bright revelations from the skies in wondrous changes wrought;
And as the twilight hastens on, a spiritual calm
Seems resting on the quiet leaves which evening dews embalm.

'T is moonlight in my garden; like some fair babe at rest,
The day-flower folds its silky wing upon its pulseless breast;
Nor is it vain philosophy to think that plants may keep
A holiday of airy dreams beneath their graceful sleep.

'T is morning in my garden; each leaf of crisped green
Hangs tremulous in diamond gems with emerald rays between
It is the birth of nature; baptized in early dew,
The plants look meekly up and smile as if their God they knew.

My garden— fair and brilliant! — the butterfly outspread
Alights with gentle fluttering on the wall-flower's golden head,
Then darting to the lily-bed floats o'er its sheeted white,
And settles on the violet's cup with fanciful delight.

My quiet little garden! — I hear the rolling wheel
Of the city's busy multitude along the highway peal,
I tread thy paths more fondly, and inhale the circling air
That glads and cools me on its way from that wide mart of care.

My friendly little garden! few worldly goods have I
To tender with o'erflowing heart in blessed charity,
But, like the cup of water by a pure disciple given,
An herb or flower may tell its tale of kindliness in heaven.

My faith-inspiring garden! thy seeds so dark and cold
Late slept in utter loneliness amid earth's senseless mould;
No sunbeams fell upon them, nor west-wind's gentle breath,
But there they lay in nothingness, an image meet of death.

Now, lo! they rise in gorgeous ranks, and glad the eager eye,
And on the wooing summer-breeze their odour passes by;
The flower-grave cannot chain them; the spirit-life upsprings
And scatters beauty in its path from thousand unseen wings.

My garden! may the morning dew rest lightly on thy bowers,
And summer clouds distil around their most refreshing showers,
And when the daily sun withdraws his golden tent above,
May moon and stars look watchful down and bless thee with their love.