A little garden on a bleak1 hillside
Where deep the heavy, dazzling mountain snow
Lies far into the spring. The sun's pale glow
Is scarcely able to melt patches wide
about the single rose bush. All denied
Of nature's tender ministries2. But no, --
For wonder-working faith has made it blow
With flowers many hued3 and starry-eyed.
Here sleeps the sun long, idle summer hours;
Here butterflies and bees fare far to rove
Amid the crumpled4 leaves of poppy flowers;
Here four o'clocks, to the passionate5 night above
Fling whiffs of perfume, like pale incense6 showers.
A little garden, loved with a great love!