In Vain Would Science Scan And Trace

Though My Verse But Roam The Air And Murmur In The Trees, You May Discern A Purpose There, As In Music Of The Bees.

The Glory Of Gardening: Hands In The Dirt, Head In The Sun, Heart With Nature. To Nurture A Garden Is To Feed Not Just On The Body, But The Soul.

Have You Never, When Waves Were Breaking, Watched Children At Sport On The Beach, With Their Little Feet Tempting The Foam-fringe, Till With Stronger And Further Reach Than They Dreamed Of, A Billow Comes Bursting, How They Turn And Scamper And Screech!

Faded Smiles Oft Linger In The Face, While Grief's First Flakes Fall Silent On The Heart!

So, Timely You Came, And Well You Chose, You Came When Most Needed, My Winter Rose. From The Snow I Pluck You, And Fondly Press Your Leaves 'twixt The Leaves Of My Leaflessness.