The Melody of Earth An Anthology of Garden and Nature Poems From Present-Day Poets

A big white _daikon_ hid in earth beneath his leafy crest; And mole-like sweet potatoes crept around his quiet nest. Above were growing pearly pease, and beans of many kinds Wit...

_The years are flowers and bloom within Eternity's wide garden; The rose for joy, the thorn for sin, The gardener God, to pardon All wilding growths, to prune, reclaim, And make...

There's something in a noble tree-- What shall I say? a soul? For 'tis not form, or aught we see In leaf or branch or bole. Some presence, though not understood, Dwells there al...

I dreamed a dream of roses somewhere breathing Their sweet souls out upon the summer night: The flowers I saw not, but their fragrance wreathing Like clouds of incense filled me...

What he may be, who knows? But we are his, We roll through nothing round him, year by year, The withering leaves upon a tree which is Each with his greed, his little power, his...

"In its first radiance I have seen The sun!--why tarry then till comes the night? I go my way, content that I have been Part of the morning light!"

_That we are mortals and on earth must dwell Thou knowest, Allah, and didst give us bread-- And remembering of our souls didst give us food of flowers-- Thy name be hallowed._

Up a hill and a hill there's a sudden orchard-slope, And a little tawny field in the sun; There's a gray wall that coils like a twist of frayed-out rope, And grasses nodding new...

Fireflies, Fireflies, like unto the silent Brown nuns who gather for the dead to pray, As theirs your mission; holy, too, your tapers, Souls of dead flowers lighting on their way.

Produced by Charlene Taylor, JoAnn Greenwood, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available...

From shapeless roots and ugly bulbous things, What gorgeous beauty springs! Such infinite variety appears, A hundred artists in a hundred years Could never copy from a floral wo...

_Grasshopper, your fairy song And my poem alike belong To the deep and silent earth From which all poetry has birth; All we say and all we sing Is but as the murmuring Of that d...