Poem by Sara Teasdale

In a Garden

  The world is resting without sound or motion,
   Behind the apple tree the sun goes down
  Painting with fire the spires and the windows
   In the elm-shaded town.

  Beyond the calm Connecticut the hills lie
   Silvered with haze as fruits still fresh with bloom,
  The swallows weave in flight across the zenith
   On an aerial loom.

  Into the garden peace comes back with twilight,
   Peace that since noon had left the purple phlox,
  The heavy-headed asters, the late roses
   And swaying hollyhocks.

  For at high-noon I heard from this same garden
   The far-off murmur as when many come;
  Up from the village surged the blind and beating
   Red music of a drum;

  And the hysterical sharp fife that shattered
   The brittle autumn air,
  While they came, the young men marching
   Past the village square. . . .

  Across the calm Connecticut the hills change
   To violet, the veils of dusk are deep—
  Earth takes her children's many sorrows calmly
   And stills herself to sleep.

1. Winter Stars
2. A Boy
3. Morning Song
4. I Thought of You
5. Nahant

Madison Cawein In a Garden ("The pink rose drops its petals on")

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