The Seed-Shop Poem by Muriel Stuart

The Seed-Shop

Rating: 3.8


Here in a quiet and dusty room they lie,
Faded as crumbled stone or shifting sand,
Forlorn as ashes, shrivelled, scentless, dry -
Meadows and gardens running through my hand.

In this brown husk a dale of hawthorn dreams;
A cedar in this narrow cell is thrust
That will drink deeply of a century's streams;
These lilies shall make summer on my dust.

Here in their safe and simple house of death,
Sealed in their shells, a million roses leap;
Here I can blow a garden with my breath,
And in my hand a forest lies asleep.

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Besa Dede 13 September 2012

Such a lovely poem, singing beautifully with imagery!

3 3 Reply
Carlos Echeverria 13 September 2012

Mr. Straw, resorting to insults only serves to embarrass you more than your ill-conceived concept of poetry. You're on the verge of becoming a philistine, unless...

2 3 Reply
Kevin Straw 13 September 2012

What an idiot you are Echeverria. ASHES DO NOT LIVE!

1 3 Reply
Kevin Straw 13 September 2012

ASHES DO NOT COME ALIVE!

1 3 Reply
Carlos Echeverria 13 September 2012

Mr. Straw, resorting to insults only serves to embarrass you even more than your ill-conceived concept of poetry.

1 3 Reply
Bjpafa Meragente 12 March 2020

Complex, informed, overwhelming.

0 1 Reply
Sylvaonyema Uba 18 March 2017

...a quiet and dusty room Well communicated and expressed Sylva

1 1 Reply
Norma Southwood 04 March 2017

this is a wonderful poem, and I have written here twice now, that there is a verse missing....Grrrrrr!

0 2 Reply
Norma Southwood 04 March 2017

The second verse is missing from this version, as I said here so long ago. I wish that you would fix it! The missing stanza reads as follows; Death, that shall quicken at the call of Spring, sleepers to stir beneath June's magic kiss, though birds pass over, unremembering, and no bee seeks here roses that were his.

2 2 Reply
Norma Southwood 04 March 2017

You have missed out a verse.. Death, that shall quicken at the call of Spring, a cedar in this narrow cell is thrust. That shall drink deeply of a century's streams, these lilies shall make summer on my dust.

1 1 Reply
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