Poem by Harriet Monroe

The Garden

Hiding under the hill,
Heavy with trailing robes and tangled veils of green,
Till only its little haggard face was visible,
The garden lay shy and wistful,
Lovelorn for summer departing,
Blowing its little trickling fountain tune into the air.
And over all, hushing, soothing,
Lay the clematis
Like early snow.

1. The Wonder of It
2. The Inner Silence
3. The Blue Ridge
4. Myself
5. At the Ship’s Rail

Sara Teasdale The Garden ("My heart is a garden tired with autumn")

Print

1594 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version