<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=429727" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Elegy In A Botanic Gardens</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">THE smell of birds' nests faintly burning <br>Is autumn. In the autumn I came <br>Where spring had used me better, <br>To the clear red pebbles and the men of stone <br>And foundered beetles, to the broken Meleager <br>And thousands of white circles drifting past, <br>Cold suns in water; even to the dead grove <br>Where we had kissed, to the Tristania tree <br>Where we had kissed so awkwardly, <br>Noted by swans with damp, accusing eyes, <br>All gone to-day; only the leaves remain, <br>Gaunt paddles ribbed with herringbones <br>Of watermelon-pink. Never before <br>Had I assented to the hateful name <br>Meryta Macrophylla, on a tin tag. <br>That was no time for botany. But now the schools, <br>The horticulturists, come forth <br>Triumphantly with Latin. So be it now, <br>Meryta Macrophylla, and the old house, <br>Ringed with black stone, no Georgian Headlong Hall <br>With glass-eye windows winking candles forth, <br>Stuffed with French horns, globes, air-pumps, telescopes <br>And Cupid in a wig, playing the flute, <br>But truly, and without escape, <br>THE NATIONAL HERBARIUM, <br>Repeated dryly in Roman capitals, <br>THE NATIONAL HERBARIUM.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Kenneth+Slessor">Kenneth Slessor</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=429727" data-title="Elegy In A Botanic Gardens de Kenneth Slessor" data-description="THE smell of birds' nests faintly burning Is autumn. In the autumn I came Where spring had used me better, To the clear red pebbles and the men of stone And foundered beetles, to the broken Meleager And thousands of white circles drifting pas..."></div> </div> </div>

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