Bountiful Givers, <br />I look along the years <br />And see the flowers you threw… <br />Anemones <br />And sprigs of gray <br />Sparse heather of the rocks, <br />Or a wild violet <br />Or daisy of a daisied field… <br />But each your best. <br /> <br />I might have worn them on my breast <br />To wilt in the long day… <br />I might have stemmed them in a narrow vase <br />And watched each petal sallowing… <br />I might have held them so - mechanically - <br />Till the wind winnowed all the leaves <br />And left upon my hands <br />A little smear of dust. <br /> <br />Instead <br />I hid them in the soft warm loam <br />Of a dim shadowed place… <br />Deep <br />In a still cool grotto, <br />Lit only by the memories of stars <br />And the wide and luminous eyes <br />Of dead poets <br />That love me and that I love… <br />Deep… deep… <br />Where none may see - not even ye who gave - <br />About my soul your garden beautiful.<br /><br />Lola Ridge<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-garden-50/
