More rain has fallen this winter
Than in the winters of twenty-one years past.
The oldest inhabitant does not remember
A winter of so many violent storms.
Soil water-logged. Season retarded. Garden undone.
(The ever-dismal daily paper!)
But orange Poor Man, who did sulk for nine months,
And threw off all his leaves, and shivered naked,
Is covering his twigs with little bright green knobs.
Montana Rubens, wept for dead not long since,
Has turned herself into a delightful garland.
From a Garden in the Antipodes (Sidgwick & Jackson, 1929)