About The Sheltered Garden Ground
ABOUT the sheltered garden ground
The trees stand strangely still.
The vale ne'er seemed so deep before,
Nor yet so high the hill.
An awful sense of quietness,
A fulness of repose,
Breathes from the dewy garden-lawns,
The silent garden rows.
As the hoof-beats of a troop of horse
Heard far across a plain,
A nearer knowledge of great thoughts
Thrills vaguely through my brain.
I lean my head upon my arm,
My heart's too full to think;
Like the roar of seas, upon my heart
Doth the morning stillness sink.
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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My Childhood Garden
my childhood garden
my childhood garden
lush and green
it was so happy it made me scream
my joy and hopes
and all my mopes
my childhood garden
my childhood garden
with the ups and downs
when i jumped i could not touch the ground
with my purle ponys
it made it homey
my childhood garden
my childhood garden
flying high
with the little lies
the grass fine
up in the sky my kite
my childhood garden
my childhood garden
now in the past
i now know that it can never last
now as i get taller
it was differnt when i was smaller
my childhood garden
poem by Danielle Eager
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The song that Mary sang
In the stillness of the dawn,
in the stillness of the dusk,
then, my heart is most alive,
there, my soul is most at peace.
In the freshness of the morning,
in the coolness of the eve,
the Lord God walks in every garden;
be still, so to know Him there.
All day long I tend my garden;
there, this evening, God may walk;
I may see Him; I may not - but
yet I meet Him in my work.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Secret Paradise
I have nurtured a garden for you in my heart,
A beautiful garden, full of sweet roses…
And jasmine trees in fragrance,
Where you see green and golden birds flew freely.
Every day I visited this garden paradise,
And cherished every moments of it,
As I promise not to leave and forget,
Our secret paradise, always blooming in my heart.
poem by Desert Life
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My Trees
The tree has branches so full of life’s teaching,
Anyone stays inside this house of wood.
My trees are in my garden of roses,
They are full of beauty, my garden tries hard
To learn and grow like humans and animals.
Your knowledge survives, my garden lives on
As it deserves to, my harder gardening is a concept.
Trees increase us in numbers, plants normally learn
Outright, their infinity is greater than ours.
poem by Naveed Akram
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My heart shall be thy garden
My heart shall be thy garden. Come, my own,
Into thy garden; thine be happy hours
Among my fairest thoughts, my tallest flowers,
From root to crowning petal, thine alone.
Thine is the place from where the seeds are sown
Up to the sky inclosed, with all its showers.
But ah, the birds, the birds! Who shall build bowers
To keep these thine? O friend, the birds have flown.
For as these come and go, and quit our pine
To follow the sweet season, or, new-corners,
Sing one song only from our alder-trees,
My heart has thoughts, which, though thine eyes hold mine.
Flit to the silent world and other summers,
With wings that dip beyond the silver seas.
poem by Alice Meynell
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In the Garden, With My Father
It is spring.
As in my garden, I stand.
In the garden -
My father is there;
... though long since gone...
He IS there.
I tend to the weeds,
The veggies and flowers...
He is there.
I never understood him
(as I should have, could have) ...
Until now,
Here, in the garden.
Where I, like he, work the soil.
I've come just recently
(these last few years)
To enjoy and love my garden so.
- I am not as surprised afterall, as I would have thought,
To find him here.
Here, in the garden.
He loved his garden very much.......
I - at that early age of restless youth - had no use
For such slow moving things.
But now, I see, and myself move, at a much slower pace.
Therefore, it is him I am here and now able to see,
In the garden.
Watching it all grow, so peacefully.
It is somewhat sad, that now,
When I can no longer tell him,
I understand.
For I have come to find... I love the garden too,
Just as much as he;
And we both always will.
My father - standing in the garden -
I now know.
After all these long years.
And I've missed him so;
But, how wonderful to find,
He IS here...
In the garden, our garden,
Always, with me.
poem by Smoky Hoss
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Sheltered Heart
Early morning rise
Rain pouring Down outside
Memories greets me again
They are what I hide
Sheltered Heart
A tender emotion
I cringe to take hold
Like a small child
I fear of being scold
Sheltered Heart
I feel strength pulling
Again I stand alone
Feeling life's energy
My heart turns to stone
Sheltered Heart
Recalling all that was tonight
I keep my head raised high
Knowing I've nothing to prove
Protected I am deep inside
Sheltered Heart
You kept me from pain
I never understood need
Always treated with high praise
But where did it all lead
poem by Suelynn Walters
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The Garden
The Garden
By: Adam M. Snow
The garden blooms to your delight;
to and from this very night.
When you are but one;
this garden blooms until you're done.
Keep that in mind but out of sight;
this garden is full of roses so white.
Open up and let shine the sun;
for Springtime has only begun.
Show off your garden so bright;
for there is no need to fight.
Now go on, no need to run;
when you're in your garden my son.
poem by Adam M. Snow
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Midsummer Dream
I dreamed of Paradise Garden;
sunlight sliding down
from an infinite sky
through cedar trees to emerald lawns;
oriental poppies six feet high,
Indian butterflies gliding by
through multilayered shades of blue.
Olympian Apollo’s statue
holds a fountain in his hands,
which swirls and mists, sparkles and cools,
cascading down to deep green pools,
where red carp flash on silver sands.
Gazing round I find,
beyond the mirror of my mind,
past flowering trees and shrubberies,
how all around
this fertile ground
the garden is confined
within a fence of iron bars,
which stretches high
to arch across and make a canopy
between me and the sky.
The falcons, hawks and eagles
which circle round are kept at bay
and cannot swoop to seize as prey
the song birds that sing here all day.
Beyond the bars, a crawling multitude
swarms to and fro insatiably
but cannot find its way
into my garden solitude.
Heavens! I thought, the truth is clear to me!
That restless swarming world
is a prison shut in by iron bars.
Only I, in my garden, am completely free!
poem by Brian Taylor
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The Garden
My heart is a garden tired with autumn,
Heaped with bending asters and dahlias heavy and dark,
In the hazy sunshine, the garden remembers April,
The drench of rains and a snow-drop quick and clear as a spark;
Daffodils blowing in the cold wind of morning,
And golden tulips, goblets holding the rain --
The garden will be hushed with snow, forgotten soon, forgotten --
After the stillness, will spring come again?
poem by Sara Teasdale
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When You Define A Thing
when you define
a thing, you limit it,
it is like fencing
your garden
the garden becomes
a set of exclusive
flowers, and anything
not like it becomes
a weed, and anything
that moves
becomes a pest
it is not that you
do not define, we do
it sometimes
only to understand
the limits of
understanding,
but we must be open
to other possibilities
of a garden,
a garden of stones
a garden of sand
of mud, of water
a fountain, a garden
of winds, of clouds
a garden of memories
like a poem
for instance, a garden
of words,
words with arms open
to the magic
of further creation
words still trying
to define themselves
in the garden
of the unknown
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Our Marriage Is Our Garden
Our marriage is our garden.
I want our garden to be beautiful.
With lush green grass,
With fragrant and colourful flowers.
A place of solace.
A place of peace.
A place of love.
Our garden must be watered.
Not watered too much.
As that would saturate the ground.
Not watered too little.
As that would leave the plants wilted.
And our grass barren.
But regularly.
So the flowers can stand tall
It must be weeded.
It must be maintained.
It must be loved.
We will plant seeds in our garden.
For new life makes any garden more beautiful and diverse.
We can harvest the fruit trees, but our harvest is limited
If we eat all the fruit too quick,
Then we must wait until the next harvest to eat again.
If we don't pick the fruit when it is right, it will spoil.
Our harvest is for our family.
If I eat all the fruit myself, then they will starve.
If we eat too much we will get sick.
If we eat what we are supposed to, then we will be healthy.
If we do not monitor the fruit,
Then someone might eat more than their share.
If we do not stand guard in our garden,
A thief might come into the garden to steal our fruit.
The fruit for our family.
For their garden must be barren and their crops have spoiled.
Our garden will stand the test of all seasons.
As all gardens do.
Another garden will also experience the same seasons.
Just at different times.
All gardens face rain.
All gardens get sun.
It is the rain that nourishes the garden and helps it's life to grow.
But our garden must be maintained regularly.
Only artificial things require no maintenance.
The artificial has no life.
It is fake, it is plastic.
Our garden needs to be real.
So life may grow and continue to grow.
So one day our children can enjoy a garden of their own.
For them and their children.
May their garden be overflowing with life and love.
And be the most beautiful garden in the world.
poem by Ryan Lee Morris
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In the spring garden
In the spring garden
~
In the spring garden
Birds sing and chatter
While flowers raise their heads
To greet the morning sun
A garden filled with colour bright
A garden which now fills with life
The bee and the butterfly hover
From flower to flower gathering nectar
Seeding the flowers blossom
Throughout the spring garden
The dew glistens upon the grass
While the wind gently rolls in the tree
All the world slowly waking
Soon to this bounty of great beauty
Every hue from natures pallet
Is here free for all to see
In the spring garden
poem by Matthew Holloway
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That Same Old Obsession
I come to this garden
I come here to rest
Early each day upon risin
I think of my lost love
From over the sea
And sometimes Ive wondered
If she thinks of me
I long to recall every kiss, every kind word
I miss her so much I could die
But the creatures of evil
Have captured her heart
And that same old obsession
Still keeps us apart
Theres peace in the garden
Theres peace in the air
Peace in the sound of the river
Theres peace in the meadow
The sun shines like gold
And if she were with me
Thered be peace in my soul
I long to return to the place, I remember
The taste of her lips close to mine
I could do much better
If I could be strong
Come into my garden
But leave me alone
I come to this garden
I come here to rest
Just as the night comes stealin
Someone is weeping
Shes calling my name
Deep in the garden
Deep in my brain
I long to recall every kiss, every kind word
I miss her so much I could die
But the creatures of evil
Have captured her heart
And that same old obsession
Still keeps us apart
But the creatures of evil
Have captured her heart
And that same old obsession
Still keeps us apart
song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You Are The One That Brings Joy To Me
With the rays of the sun starting to shine this morning,
when the garden was full of flowers with opening cups,
my heart was confused and without speech,
when you took a shortcut through my thoughts,
I was waiting for you to come home
and I had expectation and hope
but when the time drew nearer I was somewhat stripped.
With the rays of the sun starting to shine this morning,
the beauty of the flowers were disguised in the early twilight
but already the birds wanted to chat
and like a teenager in love I was somewhat stupid,
when the garden was full of flowers with opening cups.
Time suddenly elapsed far too quickly
when suddenly you were coming along the road
and I was wondering how things between us would be,
my heart was confused and without speech,
then a leave was circling twisting round and round
while a weaver dipped its head in the drinking bowl
and you were far prettier that the most beautiful flower,
when you took a shortcut through my thoughts,
when the gate suddenly squealed while opening on my property
with a cloud hanging white like a giant pillowslip,
I realised that you are the one in all of mankind
who brings joy to me, when the day started to end
with the rays of the sun.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Thorn & A Wlid Rose
By d. toler, t. colton & b. waibel
He came from the streets, she came from the mountains
A faded star and an angel without wings,
Their passions flowed like a deep running river
They had nothing left to lose and everything to gain and he said
Lets make a garden said the thorn to the wild rose,
Plant some seeds deep in the ground,
Lets make a garden said the thorn to the wild rose,
Strong enough to hold us down
Seasons will change, well last forever well see the snow and the
Falling of the leaves
High on the hill with the sky all around us, well watch it grow
From two wild seeds
Lets make a garden said the thorn to the wild rose,
Plant some seeds deep in the ground,
Lets make a garden said the thorn to the wild rose,
Where its springtime all around
Solo
He came from the streets, she came from the mountains
A faded star and an angel without wings,
Their passions flowed like a deep running river
They had nothing left to lose and everything to gain and he said
Lets make a garden said the thorn to the wild rose,
Plant some seeds deep in the ground,
Lets make a garden said the thorn to the wild rose,
Where its springtime all around
Lets make a garden said the thorn to the wild rose,
Plant some seeds deep in the ground,
Lets make a garden said the thorn to the wild rose,
Where its springtime all around
song performed by by Allman Brothers Band
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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There was a Child Once
There was a child once.
He came to play in my garden;
He was quite pale and silent.
Only when he smiled I knew everything about him,
I knew what he had in his pockets,
And I knew the feel of his hands in my hands
And the most intimate tones of his voice.
I led him down each secret path,
Showing him the hiding-place of all my treasures.
I let him play with them, every one,
I put my singing thoughts in a little silver cage
And gave them to him to keep...
It was very dark in the garden
But never dark enough for us. On tiptoe we walked
among the deepest shades;
We bathed in the shadow pools beneath the trees,
Pretending we were under the sea.
Once--near the boundary of the garden--
We heard steps passing along the World-road;
O how frightened we were!
I whispered: "Have you ever walked along that road?"
He nodded, and we shook the tears from our eyes....
There was a child once.
He came--quite alone--to play in my garden;
He was pale and silent.
When we met we kissed each other,
But when he went away, we did not even wave
poem by Katherine Mansfield
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A night at a garden
A river crossing in the forest gloom ground
Brings me down from a hill secluded and tall
The garden roses that once we stroll
Is empty and forgetful of you and me
And lost it seems in troubles that circle endlessly around
Here at the head of a tinkling fall
The rivulet at the chasm trying to pass its way to the sea
The rivulet struggles the mounting rocks at the fall
As I do to hear you once again whisper
In odor and in color
“Be among the roses tonight”
Come into the garden of roses love
For the frightening black bat night has flown
Come into the secret garden dove
I am here at the gate but the moon alone
And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad
And the musk of the roses in the night air is blown
For the breeze down the bank bay moves
And the garden of love is as high
Being to faint in the din of a remote horse hooves
On a bed of daffodils sky
To faint in the light of the rising sun I love
To faint waiting in its light and die
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The Glory of the Garden
Our England is a garden that is full of stately views,
Of borders, beds and shrubberies and lawns and avenues,
With statues on the terraces and peacocks strutting by;
But the Glory of the Garden lies in more than meets the eye.
For where the thick laurels grow, along the thin red wall,
You will find the tool- and potting-sheds which are the heart of all;
The cold-frames and the hot-houses, the dungpits and the tanks,
The rollers, carts and drain-pipes, with the barrows and the planks.
And there you'll see the gardners, the men and 'prentice boys
Told off to do as they are bid and to it without noise;
For, except when seeds are planted and we shout to scare the birds,
The Glory of the Garden it abideth not in words.
And some can pot begonias and some can bud a rose,
And some are hardly fit to trust with anything that grows;
But they can roll and trim the lawns and sift the sand and loam,
For the Glory of the Garden occupieth all who come.
Our England is a garden, and such gardens are not made
By singing:--"Oh, how beautiful!" and sitting in the shade,
While better men than we go out and start their working lives
At grubbing weeds from gravel-paths with broken dinner-knives.
There's not a pair of legs so thin, there's not a head so thick,
There's not a hand so weak and white, nor yet a heart so sick,
But it can find some needful job that's crying to be done,
For the Glory of the Garden glorifieth every one.
Then seek your job with thankfulness and work till further orders,
It it's only netting strawberries or killing slugs on borders;
And when your back stops aching and your hands begin to harden,
You will find yourself a partner in the Glory of the Garden.
Oh, Adam was a gardener, and God who made him sees
That half a proper gardener's work is done upon his knees,
So when your work is finished, you can wash your hands and pray
For the Glory of the Garden, that it may not pass away!
For the Glory of the Garden, that it may not pass away!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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The Enchanted Garden
OH, what a garden it was, living gold, living green,
Full of enchantments like spices embalming the air,
There, where you fled and I followed--you ever unseen,
Yet each glad pulse of me cried to my heart, 'She is there!'
Roses and lilies and lilies and roses again,
Tangle of leaves and white magic of blossoming trees,
Sunlight that lay where, last moment, your footstep had lain--
Was not the garden enchanted that proffered me these?
Ah, what a garden it is since I caught you at last--
Scattered the magic and shattered the spell with a kiss:
Wintry and dreary and cold with the wind of the past,
Ah that a garden enchanted should wither to this!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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