Wild Gardens

On the ripened grass is a bloomy mist
Of silver and rose and amethyst
Where the long June wave has run.

There are glints of copper and tarnished brass,
And hyacinthine flames that pass
From the green fires of the sun.

This web of a thousand gleams and glows
Was woven silently out of the snows
And the patient shine and rain.

It was fashioned cunningly day by day
From the silken spear to the pollened spray
With its folded sheaths of grain.

Oh, garden of grasses deep and wild,
So dear to the vagrant and the child
And the singer of an hour.

To the wayworn soul you give your balm,
Your cup of peace, your stringèd psalm,
Your grace of bud and flower.

Ada Foster Murray