Robin Hyde

Autumnal Garden
 
 
Your garden’s growing old. Its wallflowers wear
Richer-stained umber velvets, confident browns . . .
Your tiny sundial has the watchful air
Of the sad frost-cooled savant heart, that knows
Dragonfly dance and passing of a rose.
Each year the brooms encamp their gipsy towns
Of gold and silver, sure of welcome here.

Oh heart, there’s not a virginal keen bough
Freighted with moondrift blossom, but knows how
It’s destined for the later russet load . . .
I think I can’t quite bear your glimpse of road
That knows so well what lies beyond the hill . . .
You, growing old; the silver dance grown still.

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Last updated 24 September, 2003