IN PRAISE OF GARDENS 



A border of boundless glamour 

 For the soul's familiar field. 



In purple and gray-wrought lichen 

 The boulders lie in the sun; 

 Along its grassy footpath, 

 The white-tailed rabbits run. 

 The crickets work and chirrup 

 Through the still afternoon; 

 And the owl calls at twilight 

 Under the frosty moon. 



The odorous wild grape clambers 



Over the tumbling wall, 



And through the autumnal quiet 



The chestnuts open and fall. 



Sharing time's freshness and fragrance, 



Part of the earth's great soul, 



Here man's spirit may ripen 



To wisdom serene and whole. 



Shall we not grow with the asters? 

 Never reluctant nor sad, 

 Not counting the cost of being, 

 Living to dare and be glad. 



[H4] 



