Here you will find the Poem The Garden of poet 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.
