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The Spike: or, Victoria College Review, September 1923

Garden Verse

page 51

Garden Verse

I know a little garden close
Where violets grow and blows the rose;
Where marigolds do nod their heads
Resplendent in their leafy beds—
A little daphne bush grows there.
And makes a richer scented air.
There in the sweet and early dawn
The little winds play on the lawn,
The sparrow hops upon a tree,
And shouts his cheerful litany;
The sunlight dances on the leaves,
And whimsy-patterns brightly weaves.
There, when the morning is half-through
A cloud comes sailing in the blue—
He peeps within and turns away
Regretful that he cannot stay;
And comes the bee, with golden breast,
To banquet there, an errant guest,
A connoisseur, this buzzing bee,
Who sips his wine most delicately.
There in the languid afternoon
The purple butterfly floats, soon
To shake his wings and drift again
Over the placid airy main.
Then with the night the stars come out
And set themselves all round about,
And watch my garden-close for me
With winking eyes unceasingly.
And sometimes there's a mist drifts down
Which covers all the sleeping town,
And gently wraps the flowers and trees
And fills the lawn with mysteries;
A Spirit moves about it then,
But what she does is not for men
To know or guess at. . . So the hours
Pass swiftly for my slumbering flowers.

Scribulos.