Madison Cawein

SHE made the garden her fast friend: then she

And it in Autumn faded quietly.

The sunlight went. And then they fell asleep,

And lay beneath one covering white and deep.

Now all at once the garden wakes to light:

And still the child sleeps on clasped close in night.

“Where dost thou hide?” the garden seems to purr,

And asks again and yet again for her.

The azure wind seeks softly for her face;

Peers in the house: “Come from thy hiding place!

Thou dost thyself a wrong! Where art thou gone?

Come let us see the new frock thou hast on.”