Page:The Complete Poems of Francis Ledwidge, 1919.djvu/182

 THE GARDENER

the flowers, like flowers, her slow hands move

Easing a muffled bell or stooping low

To help sweet roses climb the stakes above,

Where pansies stare and seem to whisper "Lo!"

Like gaudy butterflies her sweet peas blow

Filling the garden with dim rustlings. Clear

On the sweet Book she reads how long ago

There was a garden to a woman dear.

She makes her life one grand beatitude

Of Love and Peace, and with contented eyes

She sees not in the whole world mean or rude,

And her small lot she trebly multiplies. 176