DE LUDIS ET HORTIS

Garden Days

I. Night and Day

When the golden day is done,
     Through the closing portal,
Child and garden, flower and sun,
     Vanish all things mortal.

As the blinding shadows fall,
     As the rays diminish,
Under evening's cloak, they all
     Roll away and vanish.

Garden darkened, daisy shut,
     Child in bed, they slumber--
Glow-worm in the highway rut,
     Mice among the lumber.

In the darkness houses shine,
     Parents move with candles;
Till on all, the night divine
     Turns the bedroom handles.

Till at last the day begins
     In the east a-breaking,
In the hedges and the whins
     Sleeping birds a-waking.

In the darkness shapes of things,
     Houses, trees, and hedges,
Clearer grow; and sparrows' wings
     Beat on window ledges.

These shall wake the yawning maid;
     She the door shall open--
Finding dew on garden glade
     And the morning broken.

There my garden grows again
     Green and rosy painted,
As at eve behind the pane
     From my eyes it fainted.

Just as it was shut away,
     Toy-like, in the even,
Here I see it glow with day
     Under glowing heaven.

Every path and every plot,
     Every bush of roses,
Every blue forget-me-not
     Where the dew reposes,

"Up!" they cry, "the day is come
     On the smiling valleys;
We have beat the morning drum;
     Playmate, join you allies!"

II. Nest Eggs

Birds, all the sunny day
     Flutter and quarrel
Here in the arbour-like
     Tent of the laurel.

Here in the fork
     The brown nest is seated;
Four little blue eggs
     The mother keeps heated.

While we stand watching her,
     Staring like gabies,
Safe in each egg are the
     Bird's little babies.

Soon the frail eggs they shall
     Chip, and upspringing
Make all the April woods
     Merry with singing.

Younger than we are,
     O children, and frailer,
Soon in blue air they'll be,
     Singer and sailor.

We, so much older,
     Taller and stronger,
We shall look down on the
     Birdies no longer.

They shall go flying
     With musical speeches
High overhead in the
     Tops of the beeches.

In spite of our wisdom
     And sensible talking,
We on our feet must go
     Plodding and walking.

III. The Flowers

All the names I know from nurse:
Gardener's garters, Shepherd's purse,
Bachelor's buttons, Lady's smock,
And the Lady Hollyhock.

Fairy places, fairy things,
Fairy woods where the wild bee wings,
Tiny trees for tiny dames--
These must all be fairy names!

Tiny woods below whose boughs
Shady fairies weave a house;
Tiny tree-tops, rose or thyme,
Where the braver fairies climb!

Fair are grown-up people's trees,
But the fairest woods are these;
Where if I were not so tall,
I should live for good and all.

IV. Summer Sun

Great is the sun, and wide he goes
Through empty heaven without repose;
And in the blue and glowing days
More thick than rain he showers his rays.

Though closer still the blinds we pull
To keep the shady parlour cool,
Yet he will find a chink or two
To slip his golden fingers through.

The dusty attic spider-clad
He, through the keyhole, maketh glad;
And through the broken edge of tiles,
Into the laddered hayloft smile.

Meantime his golden face around
He bares to all the garden ground,
And sheds a warm and glittering look
Among the ivy's inmost nook.

Above the hills, along the blue,
Round the bright air with footing true,
To please the child, to paint the rose,
The gardener of the World, he goes.

V. The Dumb Soldier

When the grass was closely mown,
Walking on the lawn alone,
In the turf a hole I found
And hid a soldier underground.

Spring and daisies came apace;
Grasses hide my hiding place;
Grasses run like a green sea
O'er the lawn up to my knee.

Under grass alone he lies,
Looking up with leaden eyes,
Scarlet coat and pointed gun,
To the stars and to the sun.

When the grass is ripe like grain,
When the scythe is stoned again,
When the lawn is shaven clear,
Then my hole shall reappear.

I shall find him, never fear,
I shall find my grenadier;
But for all that's gone and come,
I shall find my soldier dumb.

He has lived, a little thing,
In the grassy woods of spring;
Done, if he could tell me true,
Just as I should like to do.

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.

VI. 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!

VII. 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!

VIII. 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.

There, then, awhile in chains we lay,
In wintry dungeons, far from day;
But ris'n at length, with might and main,
Our iron fetters burst in twain.

Then all the horns were blown in town,
And to the ramparts clanging down,
All the giants leaped to horse
And charged behind us through the gorse.

On we rode, the others and I,
Over the mountains blue, and by
The Silver River, the sounding sea,
And the robber woods of Tartary.

A thousand miles we galloped fast,
And down the witches' lane we passed,
And rode amain, with brandished sword,
Up to the middle, through the ford.

Last we drew rein--a weary three--
Upon the lawn, in time for tea,
And from our steeds alighted down
Before the gates of Babylon.