The Beloved Gardens
Amid the noise
In millions, clangour of men Sweating for self-praise; In the misapprehension of iron, time-lapse, toil, Germ in the pantry and Universal hand; By greenless villa, lock and staring cell Earth’s plumage plucked, Muscle Treated and trussed, Fit flesh for biting; Amid new bulls without horn, Plant without sap or seed, Amid the un-flighted cranes Go they, The gardeners go Forth secretly to the beloved gardens. Among dog-daisies And wild rose, Treading over the long fought-for silence Of grass imperishable They give their good-days, They go forgotten ways, They bend, and disappear. They open the long-locked ear Of Time within; And all the ages gone when the sun shone Straight from eye to eye Subtly take possession of their mind. Bramble and woodbine, Spurge, owled oak, and willow Welcome homeward the slow dreamer, the old fellow. His one friend sits by him and sings. Mole, hole and hedgerow watch with a noonday eye For the unwanted things. Few come here to learn economy. He, root-bent, researching the earth, Tends to the only immortality. It will receive him; And shall give rebirth To dog-daisies, Bramble and woodbine, Spurge, owled oak, willow And wild rose, To moth, fireweed, nettle and nightingale Amid the noise. |