The Little Garden
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little garden on a bleak hillsideWhere deep the heavy, dazzling mountain snowLies far into the spring. The sun's pale glowIs scarcely able to melt patches wideAbout the single rose bush. All deniedOf nature's tender ministries. But no, --For wonder-working faith has made it blowWith flowers many hued and starry-eyed.Here sleeps the sun long, idle summer hours;Here butterflies and bees fare far to roveAmid the crumpled leaves of poppy flowers;Here four o'clocks, to the passionate night aboveFling whiffs of perfume, like pale incense showers.A little garden, loved with a great love!
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