Part 15

He has seen the starry hours And the springing of the flowers; And the fairy things that pass In the forests of the grass.

In the silence he has heard Talking bee and ladybird, And the butterfly has flown O'er him as he lay alone.

Not a word will he disclose, Not a word of all he knows. I must lay him on the shelf, And make up the tale myself.

AUTUMN FIRES

In the other gardens And all up the vale, From the autumn bonfires See the smoke trail!

Pleasant summer over And all the summer flowers, The red fire blazes, The grey smoke towers.

Sing a song of seasons! Something bright in all! Flowers in the summer, Fires in the fall!

THE GARDENER

The gardener does not love to talk, He makes me keep the gravel walk; And when he puts his tools away, He locks the door and takes the key.

Away behind the currant row, Where no one else but cook may go, Far in the plots, I see him dig, Old and serious, brown and big.

He digs the flowers, green, red, and blue, Nor wishes to be spoken to. He digs the flowers and cuts the hay, And never seems to want to play.

Silly gardener! summer goes, And winter comes with pinching toes, When in the garden bare and brown You must lay your barrow down.

Well now, and while the summer stays, To profit by these garden days O how much wiser you would be To play at Indian wars with me!

HISTORICAL ASSOCIATIONS

Dear Uncle Jim, this garden ground That now you smoke your pipe around. Has seen immortal actions done And valiant battles lost and won.

Here we had best on tip-toe tread, While I for safety march ahead, For this is that enchanted ground Where all who loiter slumber sound.

Here is the sea, here is the sand, Here is simple Shepherd's Land, Here are the fairy hollyhocks, And there are Ali Baba's rocks.

But yonder, see! apart and high, Frozen Siberia lies; where I, With Robert Bruce and William Tell, Was bound by an enchanter's spell.

ENVOYS

TO WILLIE AND HENRIETTA

If two may read aright These rhymes of old delight And house and garden play, You too, my cousins, and you only, may.

You in a garden green With me were king and queen, Were hunter, soldier, tar, And all the thousand things that children are.

Now in the elders' seat We rest with quiet feet, And from the window-bay We watch the children, our successors, play.

"Time was," the golden head Irrevocably said; But time which none can bind, While flowing fast away, leaves love behind.

TO MY MOTHER

You too, my mother, read my rhymes For love of unforgotten times, And you may chance to hear once more The little feet along the floor.

TO AUNTIE

Chief of our aunts--not only I, But all your dozen of nurselings cry-- What did the other children do? And what were childhood, wanting you?