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The Garden, the Fields and 
 the Woods 
 
SHE PLANTED 
 A GARDEN 
 
 Albert L. Berry 
 
 For Sale by 
 
 A. C. McClurg & Co. 
 
 CHICAGO 
 

 Copyrighted, 1916 
 Albert L. Berry 
 
 m 14 191? 
 
TO HER WHO PLANTED THE 
 GARDEN 
 
 To you who do not know her 
 Still her heart is open wide; 
 And you who really know her 
 Will find your love inside. 
 
n She Planted A Garden XX 
 
 SHE PLANTED A GARDEN 
 
 She planted a garden and it grew through the 
 
 years; 
 'Twas nourished with prayers, 'twas watered 
 
 with tears; 
 'Twas a garden of kindness, of thought and of 
 
 deeds. 
 And she bound it with love like a rosary of 
 
 beads. 
 
 She planted a garden in the world's doubting 
 
 heart, 
 And faith grew again in love's counterpart; 
 And the blossoms of hope and the fragrance 
 
 of prayer 
 Ran over its walls and spread everywhere. 
 
 O garden of promise, O garden of tears, 
 
 O garden where love blooms all through the 
 
 years, 
 O garden of faith, O garden of strife — 
 The world is her garden and love is her life. 
 
 19] 
 
n She Planted A Garden 
 
 THE FORERUNNER 
 
 There is no pulsing of the forest brown, 
 
 And mountain tops are bleak and gray; 
 
 The trees' cold fingers all are dripping wet; 
 The housedog shivers as he stops to bay. 
 
 A robin comes and dances all alone, 
 
 From pathless way a brown thrush 
 wings his flight. 
 The sun drops down between the trees at 
 noon, 
 
 The crocus signal fires again to light. 
 
 The hyacinth, her lamp still burning low, 
 Sits all alone beneath her roof of sod, 
 
 And keeps her little flame a vesper lamp. 
 
 And waits to hear the whispering voice 
 of God. 
 
 But lo! A mucky leaf is stirring now — 
 A face as pure as consecrated nun — 
 
 The fair arbutus throws her window up, 
 
 Her finger tips reach out and touch the 
 Sun. 
 
 [10] 
 
n She Planted A Garden 
 
 THE TURNING OF THE TIDE 
 
 I know a cottage garden fair, 
 
 Far down beside the restless sea, 
 
 There in my tired hours I sit. 
 
 And dream the dreams that cannot be. 
 
 I hear the bugling bluejays call; 
 
 The tom-tit comes to preen his wing; 
 Down by the shore the kildees cry, 
 
 And in the meadows kinglets sing. 
 
 And here I come my dreams to mend. 
 And throw the world's control aside, 
 
 To brim my cup with visions new. 
 And feel the turning of the tide. 
 
 [11] 
 
n She Planted A Garden XX 
 
 'NEATH THE SUNFLOWER'S TENT 
 
 Have you never had a garden 
 
 Where the hollyhocks grow tall, 
 
 And their many colored windows, 
 Overlook your garden wall? 
 
 Where the purple morning glory. 
 With his trumpet calls the Sun, 
 
 And the primrose stands and listens 
 Like a little white-capped nun. 
 
 Where the Sweet pea climbs the fences. 
 
 All her fragrance to unfold, 
 And the daisies tell your fortune 
 
 'Neath the Sunflower's tent of gold. 
 
 Where the iris builds her castles, 
 And the peony lifts her dome, 
 
 And the myrtle quilts the pathway. 
 To the doorsteps of your home. 
 
 If you have not such a garden, 
 
 Tapestried with flowers gay. 
 Though you have the wealth of India, 
 
 Half your life is thrown away. 
 
 [12] 
 
n She Planted A Garden UK 
 
 "WHO IS COMING?" 
 
 "Who Is coming?" said the crocus, 
 As she poked her golden head 
 
 From beneath the old earth's cover, 
 As she scrambled out of bed. 
 
 "Who is coming?" said the violet, 
 
 As she peeped from 'neath the sod 
 
 Lifted by the tender fingers. 
 Of the ever present God. 
 
 "Who is coming?" said the tulip, 
 As she threw her shutters wide. 
 
 And the jonquils stood on tiptoe 
 Looking out on every side. 
 
 "Who is coming?" said the myrtle. 
 
 As she ran along the fence, 
 In her mouth a tiny blossom 
 
 As the winter's recompense. 
 
 "Who is coming?" said the cowslip. 
 With her golden buckled shoes, 
 
 And the bluebells all were ringing 
 
 For they too, had heard the news. 
 
 Then a little wind came running. 
 Puffing breaths of summer air, 
 
 "'Tis the sunshine that is coming. 
 And it's coming everywhere." 
 
 ri3] 
 
n She Planted A Garden 
 
 THE LOST PLUME 
 A wild bird came to my garden wall, 
 
 On her head was a golden cap; 
 A wild bird's song she sang to me, 
 
 And a feather she flung in my lap. 
 
 "Come, live with me," I said to the bird, 
 "Why sing to the woods alone? 
 
 Come, build your nest in my hawthorne bush, 
 And make my heart your home." 
 
 "I love the woods," the wild bird said, 
 "Their temples were built for me; 
 
 I love to hear the rhythmic song 
 
 Of the brooks as they trot to the sea," 
 
 "I love to sing in the great tall pines. 
 
 Though their limbs are bare to the bone. 
 
 For I know that God is listening, 
 Though I sing there all alone." 
 
 "My home is curtained with green each year, 
 
 And never a door is latched; 
 The old moon's lamp hangs on my porch. 
 
 And my roof with stars is thatched." 
 
 So away flew the bird to the lonely wood, 
 But her charm did not depart; 
 
 I lost the plume she flung to me. 
 
 But her song is still in my heart. 
 
 [14] 
 
n She Planted A Garden XX 
 
 A TABLE SPREAD FOR TWO 
 
 "Stay a moment," says the pansy, 
 "Ere you hurry to the street, 
 
 I've a blossom I would give you. 
 
 That I've filled with fragrance sweet." 
 
 "Stay a moment," says the tulip, 
 "I've a chalice filled with dew, 
 
 And the snowdrop here is waiting, 
 With a string of pearls for you." 
 
 "And the violet too is waiting. 
 Wearing such a pretty frock, 
 
 And the sweet peas with their ringlets, 
 Climbing up the hollyhock," 
 
 And a primrose, O so dainty 
 
 Says, "A cup of tea I'll brew, 
 
 If you'll wait I'll spread my table. 
 Spread it big enough for two." 
 
 And a little honeysuckle. 
 
 Says she knows 'twill be no sin, 
 If she twines herself about me. 
 
 Just enough to hug me in. 
 
 O, how many, many children. 
 
 In love's garden as we go 
 Call to us with laughing voices, 
 
 "Do not hurry, hurry so." 
 
 [15] 
 
n She Planted A Garden 
 
 THE DANCE OF THE FLOWERS 
 
 'Twas early dawn; the winds were asleep, 
 And the silvery mist from below, 
 
 Hung like the banners of the sea. 
 Or a veil of powdered snow. 
 
 The dainty fingers of the dawn. 
 
 Strung pearls upon the flowers. 
 
 And cunning spiders quilted nets 
 In all the nooks and bowers. 
 
 The golden moss with yellow sleeves. 
 
 Ran all along the wall. 
 And told the thistles in the street 
 
 "We're going to have a ball." 
 
 A trumpet flower his bugle blew, 
 
 And the opening march called out. 
 
 An aster white and scarlet thyme 
 Were waltzing all about. 
 
 A jonquil threw her purse of gold 
 
 Down in a larkspur's lap, 
 And danced a reel with a dahlia grand, 
 
 While a sunflower held her cap. 
 
 [16 
 
n She Planted A Garden XX 
 
 A silken poppy with crinkled gown, 
 
 Came in with a lordly stock, 
 But the way she leaned upon his arm, 
 
 Gave the chaperons a shock. 
 
 A primrose in her slippers white, 
 
 And a violet with apron of blue, 
 
 Each wore a rosary of pearls, 
 
 All made from the crystal dew. 
 
 The feathery pink went sweeping by. 
 
 Holding up her silken skirt. 
 While a meadow-rue looked up in her face, 
 
 She's such a dainty flirt. 
 
 The sweet peas with their phrygian caps. 
 
 Were leaning o'er the gate. 
 To gossip with the hollyhocks 
 
 Who also came in late. 
 
 Then a sunbeam opened its yellow purse, 
 And his riches threw o'er the wall. 
 
 The flowers all scrambled to pick up the gold, 
 And that ended their charming ball. 
 
 [17 1 
 
n She Planted A Garden 
 
 THE KEEPER OF THE GOLD 
 
 I watched the quiet twilight come out of the 
 tent at night, 
 
 Her nimble fingers gathering gold that day 
 had left in flight, 
 
 She hid her rosy treasure 'neath the evening's 
 dark'ning fold; 
 
 And the stars with twinkling torches came 
 searching for her gold, 
 
 But they never found her riches, and when 
 the hills were gray. 
 
 She threw her gold far o'er the east, and van- 
 ished with the day. 
 
 118 
 
n She Planted A Garden XX 
 
 MY SUMMER GARDEN 
 
 Along the walk she flames In royal pride — 
 The marigold, with yellow ruffles wide, 
 And, with a scornful smile, looks down 
 As primrose fair puts on her dainty gown. 
 
 The honeysuckle peeps through lattice old. 
 And lifts her cup, all spun of finest gold. 
 A damask rose that leaned against the wall. 
 Sweet william sees, then lets her kerchief fall. 
 
 The hollyhocks, with badges white and red. 
 Have reared their temples where the flowers 
 
 wed. 
 Old fashioned pinks, and ox-eye daisies tall 
 Have naught to wear at periwinkle's ball. 
 
 The royal coxcomb, and the lovely stocks 
 Make love to poppies shy, in crinkled frocks. 
 The cool moon flower shuts her bloom from 
 
 sight, 
 And leaves the key alone with silv'ry night. 
 
 So grows my garden 'neath the summer sky, 
 And sheds no tears, though death is drawing 
 nigh. 
 
 [19] 
 
n She Planted A Garden XX 
 
 THE FLIGHT OF AUTUMN 
 
 'Tis now September's golden prime, 
 
 At eve the piping quails come near; 
 
 The thistle tos't her crown afar, 
 Into the mellow atmosphere. 
 
 And o'er the hills the autumn comes. 
 
 With sandals made of brightest gold, 
 
 Leaving her foot-prints in the field, 
 In forest deep and fen and wold. 
 
 The leaves are palsied on the trees, 
 
 And spirit-like the haze drifts low; 
 
 Along the fences and the fields 
 
 Like sentry stands the golden glow. 
 
 But now the frost with savage breath 
 And cutlass whetted by the night 
 
 Strips all the gold from field and wood — 
 And sandalled autumn puts to flight. 
 
 [20] 
 
n She Planted A Garden XX 
 
 THE CROWN ON THE CLOVER 
 
 Who gives the crown to the clover, 
 The gold to the meadow weeds? 
 
 Who hangs upon the barberry bush 
 Its rosary of beads? 
 
 Who powders the hills with silver, 
 
 And carpets the heaven with gold ? 
 
 Who lights the night-flies sparkling lamps, 
 And carries the stars in His fold? 
 
 'TIs He who rounds the planets, 
 
 And guides them in their flight; 
 
 'Tis He who moulds the tear-drop 
 That sorrow sheds at night. 
 
 Here in His great cathedral 
 
 Its golden lighted dome, 
 I worship with a thousand worlds, 
 
 And feel myself at home. 
 
 21 
 
n She Planted A Garden 
 
 ANOTHER DAY 
 
 A cool white mist comes from the ocean gray, 
 And curtains all the meads within the 
 fold; 
 The sweetness of the common dawn I feel — 
 The meadow songs that never will grow 
 old. 
 
 A breath like winter comes from mountain 
 tops, 
 And chills the pearls now strung upon the 
 vine; 
 The ragged moon begs at the door of morn; 
 The white lips of the dawn are touching 
 mine. 
 
 The sea-white banners from the valleys rise, 
 Their ^tecy garments trailing o'er the 
 green; 
 They skirt the woods, then up the mountain 
 climb, 
 And wave their plumes, then drift away 
 unseen. 
 
 And now, the long white fingers of the dawn, 
 With golden key, unlocks the door of day, 
 
 And o'er the world the sun now spreads her 
 gold, 
 And richer is for what she throws away. 
 
 [221 
 
She Planted A Garden 
 
 IN THE FIELDS WE WENT 
 A-WALKING 
 
 My daughter and I went walking — 
 
 Her little hand in mine; 
 "I'm keeping step," she said to me, 
 
 Though running half the time. 
 
 Away in the fields we wandered, 
 A gold-crest sang us a song; 
 
 In the woods the partridges a-drumming. 
 And the sun-beams following along. 
 
 The dogwood threw us her blossoms, 
 The laurel was flowering anew; 
 
 On the leaf of a wild rose was written, 
 "I'd like to go walking with you." 
 
 The tad-poles frolicked in marshes; 
 
 And frogs were beginning to cry; 
 The kildees and plover a-mating, 
 
 And wild geese flying high. 
 
 Up the mountain's steep we struggled — 
 The portals of day still ajar — 
 
 On the rim of the moon was a promise, 
 Below was the peep of a star. 
 
 Now alone I walk through the moorland; 
 
 The moon is crossing the bar. 
 No hand to my own is clinging. 
 
 And gone is the peep of the star. 
 
 [231 
 
n ^he Planted A Garden XX 
 
 THE GRISLED FOREST 
 
 I love the grisled forest lone and deep, 
 
 Whistling at night to put itself to sleep; 
 
 I love the maddened winds when in their 
 
 flight, 
 I hear them cry like famished wolves at night. 
 
 I love the lisping poplars tall and bare. 
 The swaying grasses bowing low in prayer, 
 A field of ragged cornstalks growing old, 
 Like half clad beggars shivering in the cold. 
 
 I love the lowing herd — their far-off call, 
 The cawing rooks on some deserted wall; 
 The glooming owl with eyes like golden beads. 
 The lonely crane low-flagging o'er the meads. 
 
 I love the farmhouse with its far-off light, 
 Its crippled gate that grinds its teeth at night, 
 The tinkling bell like some far distant rune, 
 The lonely watch-dog baying at the moon. 
 
 O, grisled forest shivering field and wold 
 O, lowing herd and farm-house lone and cold, 
 Thy winter bleakness to my heart is dear. 
 And all thy melodies I love to hear. 
 
 [24] 
 
n She Planted A Garden n 
 
 A GARDEN OLD 
 
 I know a garden over-grown with vine. 
 With fragrant musk- rose and with columbine; 
 Where honey-suckle mends with threads of 
 
 gold 
 The ragged hedge and crumbling wall grown 
 
 old; 
 Where stately asters court the meadow-rue 
 And shirley poppies tell their dreams to you; 
 Where fluttering sweat-peas spread their wings 
 
 of white 
 And snow-drops throw away their pearls at 
 
 night; 
 Where thistles in the corner often tell 
 How sweetly chimes the canterburybell. 
 
 There, golden sandalled shadows dance with 
 
 light, 
 And loitering twilight shuts the gates of night. 
 
 [251 
 
n She Planted A Garden XX 
 
 OCTOBER 
 
 The forests now all wear their Autumn dress 
 Of gold and red in Nature's loveliness. 
 
 The restless leaves the calling winds await 
 To romp and spin and cuddle 'neath 
 the gate. 
 
 Now little whisps of hay lay on the field 
 
 And scattered cornstalks tell of harvest 
 yield. 
 The mullen stalks are seared and bare and 
 gray 
 
 Like altar candles where the grasses pray. 
 
 Gold-footed runs the sun where e'er I go 
 
 And lifts my soul beyond life's ebb and 
 flow: 
 And through the fields and woods I jog 
 along 
 While wayside minstrels fill my life with 
 song. 
 
 [26] 
 
n Shf Planted A Garden XX 
 
 THE BIRTH OF THE FLOWERS 
 
 O, royal tulip with thy cruse of gold 
 Thy torch was burning ere the earth was cold; 
 And star of Bethlehem with face so fair, 
 When was thy chalice filled with fragance 
 
 rare? 
 And sweet rhodora in thy sylvan home, 
 Who flamed the delta ere there was a Rome, 
 And thou, fair lotus, 'neath the Nile hast 
 
 bloomed 
 Ere Egypt flourished or great Thebes was 
 
 doomed ; 
 Thou lowly violet, with thy cape of blue; 
 Pharaoh's fair daughter must have courted 
 
 you. 
 And flaming bush that blooms so near the sod, 
 We bow to thee who heard the voice of God. 
 
 271 
 
n She Planted A Garden JH 
 
 EVENTIDE 
 
 How quiet is this hour of eventide 
 
 When, spirit-like, a calm broods o'er the 
 field: 
 
 The tented shocks of corn like wigwams stand 
 Deserted now, 'reft of their summer yield. 
 
 The winds tiptoe across the scented grass, 
 A softer glow falls on the distant hill; 
 
 A purple haze hangs in the vale below 
 
 And all is hushed and holy, calm and 
 still. 
 
 A mountain hymn comes softly through the 
 trees 
 
 A tired mother bows her head in prayer: 
 Soft eyes are slumbering; while the watcher 
 dreams 
 
 Night's comfort comes, and love and 
 faith are there. 
 
 Now quivering comes a dimly lighted star 
 Hung on the porch of heaven's distant 
 gray 
 Then grows the light as if 'twere closer pushed 
 That through the darkness we might see 
 our way. 
 
 [28] 
 
n She Planted A Garden EK 
 
 THE SONGS OF SUMMER 
 
 Go, listen to the music of the garden, 
 
 When murmuring bees are courting flowers 
 
 rare; 
 When humming birds on membraned wings 
 
 are singing, 
 And all the songs of Summer fill the air. 
 
 Go, listen to the whispering of the grasses, 
 As low they sing their sarabands of old — 
 The lowland music from the fen and moorland, 
 The cradle-songs from off the mystic wold. 
 
 Go, where the brooks their castanets are 
 
 clicking. 
 With mountain songs they hurry to the sea. 
 Singing to woods and fields and meadows. 
 Attuned to all their wildwood minstrelsy. 
 
 Go, listen to the music of the forests. 
 When night winds on the tree-harps play; 
 Go hear the litanies on the hill tops. 
 And throw my feeble, lisping songs away. 
 
 29 
 
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