(Westfield, N. Y.)

When I linger in my garden

And see black swallowtails hovering

Over white phlox and orange zinnias,

And morning glories, in a heavenly blue mass

Surge upward on their trellis;

When I watch the scintillating humming-bird

Sip from the trumpet blossoms across my doorway,

I feel no urge of travel to behold

More of earth’s beauty.

Here in my little garden I have it all—

And here I am content.

[Pg 25]

[Pg 25]

 Rhythm

Firelight, and strains of a symphony

Wafting in.

Outside, bare trees

Against leaden skies

Weave their own music

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