THERE were many flowers in my mother's garden,
Sword-leaved gladiolus, taller far than I,
Sticky-leaved petunias, pink and purple-flaring,
Velvet-painted pansies staring at the sky;

Scentless portulacas crowded down the borders,
White and scarlet-petaled, satin-rose and gold,
Clustered sweet alyssum, lacy-white and scented,
Sprays of gray-green lavender to keep till you were old;

In my mother's garden were green-leaved hiding-places,
Nooks between the lilacs– oh, a pleasant place to play!
Still my heart can hide there, still my eyes can dream it,
Though the long years lie between and I am far away;

When the world is hard now, when the city's clanging
Tires my ears and tires my heart and dust lies everywhere,
I can dream the peace still of the soft wind's shining,
I can be a child still and hide my heart from care.

Lord, if still that garden blossoms in the sunlight,
Grant that children laugh there now among its green and gold,
Grant that little hearts still hide its memoried sweetness,
Locking one bright dream away for light when they are old!