What wondrous life is this I lead!
Ripe apples drop about my head;
The luscious clusters of the vine
Upon my mouth do crush their wine;
The nectarine and curious peach
Into my hands themselves do reach;
Stumbling on melons, as I pass,
Ensnared with flowers I fall on grass.
This moral it is mine to sing:
Go learn a lesson of the flowers;
Joy's season is in life's young spring,
Then seize, like them, the fleeting hours.
My garden is a forest ledge
Which older forests bound;
The banks slope down
to the blue lake- edge
Then plunge to depths profound.
Ralph Waldo Emerson
They'd say, "But this is how
a garden's made":
To fall through days in silence dark and cool,
And hear the fountain falling
in the shade
Tell changeless time upon
the garden pool.
A childhood by this fountain wondering
Would leave impress of circle mysteries:
One would have faith that the unjustest thing
Had geometric grace past what one sees.
All photos this page by Elizabeth Hansen.