XI 



GARDEN PROMISES 



IT is Winter, and when it is winter the earth is very 

 secret, but it lies like pie-crust promises waiting to be 

 broken. A little graveyard of the tombs of seeds and 

 bulbs spreads before one's eyes. Each tomb has a 

 nice headstone of white with the name of the buried 

 life below written upon it. The virtues of the buried 

 are not written in so many words, but their names 

 suffice for that. In my imagination I see my graveyard 

 like this ; 



HERE LIES BURIED 



A 



ROSE COLOURED TULIP 

 WHO CAME ACROSS THE SEAS 

 FROM THE KINGDOM 

 OF 



HOLLAND 



UNDER THIS EARTH 



SHE 

 AND ONE HUNDRED OF HER SISTERS 



ARE WAITING FOR THE SPRING 

 WHEN THEY WILL UNFOLD THEMSELVES 



FROM THEIR LONG SLEEP AND ADORN 



WITH THEIR PLEASANT FACES THE SOUTH 



BORDER FACING THE STUDY WINDOW 



That I see most clearly written over the spot where I 

 tucked the hundred and one beautiful sisters in their 

 bed of rich brown earth, and I am looking for the 



