Amy Lowell: The Little Garden

The Little Garden

A little garden on a bleak hillside  Where deep the heavy, dazzling mountain snow  Lies far into the spring.  The sun's pale glow Is scarcely able to melt patches wide About the single rose bush.  All denied  Of nature's tender ministries.  But no, —  For wonder-working faith has made it blow With flowers many hued and starry-eyed.  Here sleeps the sun long, idle summer hours; Here butterflies and bees fare far to rove  Amid the crumpled leaves of poppy flowers; Here four o'clocks, to the passionate night above  Fling whiffs of perfume, like pale incense showers. A little garden, loved with a great love!