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 toward 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.
I like to hear of wealth and gold,
And El Doradoes in their glory;
I like for silks and satins bold
To sweep and rustle through a story.
The nightingale is sweet of song;
The rare exotic smells divinely;
And knightly men who stride along,
The role heroic carry finely.
But then, upon the other hand,
Our minds have got a way of running
To things that aren't quite so grand,
Which, maybe, we were best in shunning.
For some of us still like to see
The poor man in his dwelling narrow,
The hollyhock, the bumblebee,
The meadow lark, and chirping sparrow.
We like the man who soars and sings
With high and lofty inspiration;
But he who sings of common things
Shall always share our admiration.
Seed-Time And Harvest
Poet: E. Nesbit
My hollyhocks are all awake,
And not a single rose is lost;
My wallflowers, for dear pity's sake,
Have fought the winter's cruel frost;
Pink peony buds begin to peer,
And flags push up their sword-blades fine:
I know there will not be this year
A brighter garden plot than mine.
I'll sow the seeds of mignonette,
Of snapdragon and sunflowers tall,
And scarlet poppies I will set
To flower against the southern wall;
Already all my lilies show
The green crowns baby lilies wear,
And all my flowers will grow and blow,
Because Love's hand has set them there.
I'll plant and water, sow and weed,
Till not an inch of earth shows brown,
And take a vow of each small seed
To grow to greenness and renown:
And then some day you'll pass my way,
See gold and crimson, bell and star,
And catch my garden's soul, and say:
“How sweet these cottage gardens are!”
Thanks
Poet: Norman Gale
Thank you very much indeed,
River, for your waving reed;
Mr. Sun, for jolly beam;
Mrs. Cow, for milk and cream;
Hollyhocks, for budding knobs;
Foxgloves, for your velvet fobs;
Pansies, for your silky cheeks;
Chaffinches, for singing beaks;
Spring, for wood anemones
Near the mossy toes of trees;
Summer, for the fruited pear,
Yellowing crab and cherry fare;
Autumn, for the bearded load,
Hazel-nuts along the road;
Winter, for the fairy tale,
Spitting log and bouncing hail;
Christmas Day, for Mary's Child,
Jesus manifest and mild.
But, blest Father high above,
All these joys are from your love;
And your children everywhere,
Born in palace, lane, or square,
Cry, with voices all agreed,
Thank you very much indeed!
Guests
Poet: Celia Thaxter
Sunflower tall and hollyhock, that wave in the wind together,
Cornflower, poppy, and marigold, blossoming fair and fine,
Delicate sweet-peas, glowing bright in the quiet autumn weather,
While over the fence, on fire with bloom, climbs the nasturtium vine!
Quaint little wilderness of flowers, straggling hither and thither -
Morning-glories tangled about the larkspur gone to seed,
Scarlet runners that burst all bounds, and wander, heaven knows whither,
And lilac spikes of bergamot, as thick as any weed.
And oh, the bees and the butterflies, the humming-birds and sparrows,
That over the garden waver and chirp and flutter the livelong day!
Humming-birds, that dart in the sun like green and golden arrows,
Butterflies like loosened flowers blown off by the wind in play.
Look at the red nasturtium flower, drooping, bending, and swaying;
Out the gold-banded humble-bee breaks and goes booming anew!
Hark, what the sweet-voiced fledgeling sparrows low to themselves are saying,
Pecking my golden oats where the cornflowers gleam so blue!
Welcome, a thousand times welcome, ye dear and delicate neighbors -
Bird and bee and butterfly, and humming-bird fairy fine!
Proud am I to offer you a field for your graceful labors;
All the honey and all the seeds are yours in this garden of mine.
I sit on the doorstep and watch you. Beyond lies the infinite ocean,
Sparkling, shimmering, whispering, rocking itself to rest;
And the world is full of perfume and color and beautiful motion,
And each new hour of this sweet day the happiest seems and best.
