Gardens of the Poets 
229 
“ The Bearbine with the Lilac interlaced. 
The sturdy Burdock choked its tender neighbor. 
The spicy Pink. All tokens were effaced 
Of human care and labor.’ ’ 
These lines are a great contrast to the dignified 
versification of The Old Garden, by Margaret De- 
land, a garden around which a great city has grown. 
“ Around it is the street, a restless arm 
That clasps the country to the city’s heart.” 
No one could read this poem without knowing that 
the author is a true garden lover, and knowing as 
well that she spent her childhood in a garden. 
Another American poet, Edith Thomas, writes 
exquisitely of old gardens and garden flowers. 
“ The pensile Lilacs still their favors throw. 
The Star of Lilies, plenteous long ago. 
Waits on the summer dusk, and faileth not. 
The legions of the grass in vain would blot 
The spicy Box that marks the garden row. 
Let but the ground some human tendance know. 
It long remaineth an engentled spot.” 
1 
Let me for a moment, through the suggestion of 
her last two lines, write of the impress left on nature 
through flower planting. c< The garden long re- 
maineth an engentled spot.” You cannot for years 
stamp out the mark of a garden; intentional destruc- 
tion may obliterate the garden borders, but neglect 
never. The delicate flowers die, but some sturdy 
things spring up happily and seem gifted with ever- 
lasting life. Fifteen years ago a friend bought an 
old country seat on Long Island ; near the site of 
