MY heart is a garden tired with autumn,
Heaped with bending asters and dahlias heavy and dark,
In the hazy sunshine, the garden remembers April,
The drench of rains and a snow-drop quick and clear as a spark;
Daffodils blowing in the cold wind of morning,
And golden tulips, goblets holding the rain
The garden will be hushed with snow, forgotten soon, forgotten
After the stillness, will spring come again?
The Garden
written bySara Teasdale
© Sara Teasdale
