The Garden
Lola Ridge
Bountiful Givers,
I look along the years
And see the flowers you threw …
Anemones
And sprigs of gray
Sparse heather of the rocks,
Or a wild violet
Or daisy of a daisied field …
But each your best.
I might have worn them on my breast
To wilt in the long day …
I might have stemmed them in a narrow vase
And watched each petal sallowing …
I might have held them so-mechanically-
Till the wind winnowed all the leaves
And left upon my hands
A little smear of dust.
Instead
I hid them in the soft warm loam
Of a dim shadowed place …
Deep
In a still cool grotto,
Lit only by the memories of stars
And the wide and luminous eyes
Of dead poets
That love me and that I love …
Deep … deep …
Where none may see – not even ye who gave –
About my soul your garden beautiful.
About this poem
“The Garden” was published in “The Ghetto, and other poems” (B. W. Huebsch, 1918).
About Lola Ridge
Lola Ridge was born on Dec. 12, 1873, in Dublin. Her books include “Sun-up and other poems” (B. W. Huebsch, 1920), “Red Flag” (Viking Press, 1927), and “Firehead” (Payson & Clarke, ltd., 1929). Ridge died in New York on May 19, 1941.
The Academy of American Poets is a nonprofit, mission-driven organization, whose aim is to make poetry available to a wider audience. Email The Academy at poem-a-day@poets.org.
This poem is in the public domain. Distributed by King Features Syndicate.
