Poems (Van Rensselaer)/A Garden in the Fern
A GARDEN IN THE FERN
Make thyself lowly for this garden laid
In the clear stillness of the beech-tree shade.
Make thyself lowly; lie amid the fern;
Forget the size of men and tree-trunks; learn,
With eyes attuned to daintier scale, to see
What the green garths of fairyland may be.
In the clear stillness of the beech-tree shade.
Make thyself lowly; lie amid the fern;
Forget the size of men and tree-trunks; learn,
With eyes attuned to daintier scale, to see
What the green garths of fairyland may be.
Hollowed a-top is this gray stone; its bed
Is moss, and the enwalling fronds are spread
A space apart that so, untouched, may rise
The white wood-sorrel's delicate surprise
From the deep emerald floor. Come close and know
How triple leaflets on each thin stalk grow,
Drooping together at the touch of night,
How the snowflakes of flowers, so exquisite
They shame the wild rose as too large and bold,
Are crimson-threaded and are eyed with gold.
Is moss, and the enwalling fronds are spread
A space apart that so, untouched, may rise
The white wood-sorrel's delicate surprise
From the deep emerald floor. Come close and know
How triple leaflets on each thin stalk grow,
Drooping together at the touch of night,
How the snowflakes of flowers, so exquisite
They shame the wild rose as too large and bold,
Are crimson-threaded and are eyed with gold.
Dark trefoil and white blossom—see, they press,
A tremulous company of loveliness,
Trusting frail feet to nook and crevice, up
The lichened stone to find and wreathe its cup,
The moss-lined basin that the diligent wings
Of winds have sown with seeds of tiny things.
A tremulous company of loveliness,
Trusting frail feet to nook and crevice, up
The lichened stone to find and wreathe its cup,
The moss-lined basin that the diligent wings
Of winds have sown with seeds of tiny things.
There are no words minute and sweet enough
To tell how flourishes upon its rough
Rock-base this garden plot. Here too are ferns
But miniature: e'en the wood-sorrel turns
Downward to them its golden glance; inch-tall
And scarcely more the grasses grow and all
Their bonny neighbors of the broader leaf—
Minim parterres where one small scarlet sheaf
Of strawberries is statured like a tree,
And gauzy flies as birds for bigness be.
To tell how flourishes upon its rough
Rock-base this garden plot. Here too are ferns
But miniature: e'en the wood-sorrel turns
Downward to them its golden glance; inch-tall
And scarcely more the grasses grow and all
Their bonny neighbors of the broader leaf—
Minim parterres where one small scarlet sheaf
Of strawberries is statured like a tree,
And gauzy flies as birds for bigness be.
Why seek far grandeurs? Wash thy lids with dew
Of the accustomed morning, line thy shoe
With fern-seed from the well-known woodland path,
And go (invisibly to him who hath
Proud eyes for the remote and large) where stand,
Frequent, unfenced, the garths of fairyland.
Of the accustomed morning, line thy shoe
With fern-seed from the well-known woodland path,
And go (invisibly to him who hath
Proud eyes for the remote and large) where stand,
Frequent, unfenced, the garths of fairyland.
Onteora.