PURPLE ASTERS
I HAD a garden when I was a boyWherein I planted fondly many a flower,And watched it grow until I felt the joyThat every gardener feels, as Nature's powerTo make rare perfumes burst from stalks of greenAnd dash rich colours o'er dull earth is seen.In that old garden, bright with varied bloomFrom early tulip time till winter fell,It seemed as if no sombre growth or gloomHad any place, or could desire to dwell;Yet o'er one corner wildness still held sway,And there, I always felt, a shadow lay.In that strange spot pale purple asters came,When earth wore gorgeous colours on her breast,And fields were ripe, and autumn's flood of flameFrom scarlet maples swept from east to west;They bore no wealth of royal purple bloom,But seemed meet products of great Nature's gloom.The lives of men are gardens, from whose soilSpring rich red-petalled roses, violets blueAs heaven; where, too, the passion-flower's strong coilCloses round frail anemones, hearts-ease, and rue;But in some sheltered spots, bright blooms beside,Pale purple fringëd asters love to hide.They tell us there are gardens always cladWith summer's richest robes, awaiting menBeyond the stars, where hearts at once grow glad,And never to low levels sink again;Perhaps even such light lands may need to seeThe purple asters of despondency.
I HAD a garden when I was a boyWherein I planted fondly many a flower,And watched it grow until I felt the joyThat every gardener feels, as Nature's powerTo make rare perfumes burst from stalks of greenAnd dash rich colours o'er dull earth is seen.In that old garden, bright with varied bloomFrom early tulip time till winter fell,It seemed as if no sombre growth or gloomHad any place, or could desire to dwell;Yet o'er one corner wildness still held sway,And there, I always felt, a shadow lay.In that strange spot pale purple asters came,When earth wore gorgeous colours on her breast,And fields were ripe, and autumn's flood of flameFrom scarlet maples swept from east to west;They bore no wealth of royal purple bloom,But seemed meet products of great Nature's gloom.The lives of men are gardens, from whose soilSpring rich red-petalled roses, violets blueAs heaven; where, too, the passion-flower's strong coilCloses round frail anemones, hearts-ease, and rue;But in some sheltered spots, bright blooms beside,Pale purple fringëd asters love to hide.They tell us there are gardens always cladWith summer's richest robes, awaiting menBeyond the stars, where hearts at once grow glad,And never to low levels sink again;Perhaps even such light lands may need to seeThe purple asters of despondency.
I HAD a garden when I was a boyWherein I planted fondly many a flower,And watched it grow until I felt the joyThat every gardener feels, as Nature's powerTo make rare perfumes burst from stalks of greenAnd dash rich colours o'er dull earth is seen.
I HAD a garden when I was a boy
Wherein I planted fondly many a flower,
And watched it grow until I felt the joy
That every gardener feels, as Nature's power
To make rare perfumes burst from stalks of green
And dash rich colours o'er dull earth is seen.
In that old garden, bright with varied bloomFrom early tulip time till winter fell,It seemed as if no sombre growth or gloomHad any place, or could desire to dwell;Yet o'er one corner wildness still held sway,And there, I always felt, a shadow lay.
In that old garden, bright with varied bloom
From early tulip time till winter fell,
It seemed as if no sombre growth or gloom
Had any place, or could desire to dwell;
Yet o'er one corner wildness still held sway,
And there, I always felt, a shadow lay.
In that strange spot pale purple asters came,When earth wore gorgeous colours on her breast,And fields were ripe, and autumn's flood of flameFrom scarlet maples swept from east to west;They bore no wealth of royal purple bloom,But seemed meet products of great Nature's gloom.
In that strange spot pale purple asters came,
When earth wore gorgeous colours on her breast,
And fields were ripe, and autumn's flood of flame
From scarlet maples swept from east to west;
They bore no wealth of royal purple bloom,
But seemed meet products of great Nature's gloom.
The lives of men are gardens, from whose soilSpring rich red-petalled roses, violets blueAs heaven; where, too, the passion-flower's strong coilCloses round frail anemones, hearts-ease, and rue;But in some sheltered spots, bright blooms beside,Pale purple fringëd asters love to hide.
The lives of men are gardens, from whose soil
Spring rich red-petalled roses, violets blue
As heaven; where, too, the passion-flower's strong coil
Closes round frail anemones, hearts-ease, and rue;
But in some sheltered spots, bright blooms beside,
Pale purple fringëd asters love to hide.
They tell us there are gardens always cladWith summer's richest robes, awaiting menBeyond the stars, where hearts at once grow glad,And never to low levels sink again;Perhaps even such light lands may need to seeThe purple asters of despondency.
They tell us there are gardens always clad
With summer's richest robes, awaiting men
Beyond the stars, where hearts at once grow glad,
And never to low levels sink again;
Perhaps even such light lands may need to see
The purple asters of despondency.