“Oh, Tell Me How My Garden Grows”

Oh, tell me how my garden grows,
Now I no more may labor there;
Do still the lily and the rose
Bloom on without my fostering care?

Do peonies blush as deep with pride,
The larkspurs burn as bright a blue,
And velvet pansies stare as wide
I wonder, as they used to do?

The tender things that would not blow
Unless I coaxed them, do they raise
Their petals in a sturdy row,
Forgetful, to the stranger’s gaze?

Or do they show a paler shade,
And sigh a little in the wind
For one whose sheltering presence made
Their step-dame Nature less unkind?

Oh, tell me how my garden grows,
Where I no more may take delight,
And if some dream of me it knows,
Who dream of it by day and night.

Mildred Howells