I walked about the garden in the evening,
And thought: How Autumn lingers –
Still a few gold chrysanthemums –
Still one late rose –
The old blackbird still has voice.
I walked back down the pathway,
The evening light lay gently on the orchard;
Then I saw a redness on the peach boughs,
And bulb-spears pushing upwards,
And heard the old blackbird whistle
‘Get ready. Get ready. Get ready.
Quick. Quick. Spring.’
So I cut down the last chrysanthemums,
Pulled up their stakes and piled them in the shed,
At hand to serve me soon for young delphiniums.
From a Garden in the Antipodes (Sidgwick & Jackson, 1929)