In Edgar A Guest's poem, he recalls memories of hollyhocks first blooming in the garden. He refers to different flowers and his thoughts on each. For those who love flowers, this poem will be one to enjoy.
And, don't forget to enjoy and appreciate your personal growth or your quest to move upwards.
The stunning beauty of a garden no matter what time of the year is always a true gardener's delight. The morning times are fabulous as we wander out from our back door with our morning coffee in hand. As we approach the garden, the morning dew is quickly dispersing as the sun's rays become stronger and stronger. It is springtime and all things green are blooming towards the blue skies above.
There is no greater pleasure than to see the gorgeous flowers as the poet describes, "The pansies in their patch of shade, the violets, stolen from a glade, the bleeding hearts and columbine, have long been garden friends of mine".
We all long for those splendid days of spring flowers heralding a new season. It is a season where most or all of the snow has started to fade to a distant memory as a variety of spring flowers takes back those days of gloom and darkness on the short winter days.
It is a time to scamper out of the warmth of a home to the increasing warmth of a sun-filled spring day. It is a day to be renewed and refreshed in our spirit and soul just like the renewal of plants so long dormant. Sometimes, the growth of new spring flowers is just like our lives. We need to allow ourselves to blossom out from under the past doom and gloom to which we have succumbed. It is an opportunity to ignite our desire to move forward, to move up and away from what lay in the past. Maybe, it is time to give yourself a dose of motivation just like you would give a blossoming plant some growth fertilizer.
Old-fashioned flowers! I love them all:
The morning-glories on the wall,
The pansies in their patch of shade,
The violets, stolen from a glade,
The bleeding hearts and columbine,
Have long been garden friends of mine;
But memory every summer flocks
About a clump of hollyhocks.
The mother loved them years ago;
Beside the fence they used to grow,
And though the garden changed each year
And certain blooms would disappear
To give their places in the ground
To something new that mother found,
Some pretty bloom or rosebush rare—
The hollyhocks were always there.
It seems but yesterday to me
She led me down the yard to see
The first tall spires, with bloom aflame,
And taught me to pronounce their name.
And year by year I watched them grow,
The first flowers I had come to know.
And with the mother dear I'd yearn
To see the hollyhocks return.
The garden of my boyhood days
With hollyhocks was kept ablaze;
In all my recollections they
In friendly columns nod and sway;
And when to-day their blooms I see,
Always the mother smiles at me;
The mind's bright chambers, life unlocks
Each summer with the hollyhocks.