The Garden by Moonlight
By Amy Lowell
A black cat among roses,
Phlox, lilac-misted under a first-quarter moon,
The sweet smells of heliotrope and night-scented stock.
The garden is very still,
It is dazed with moonlight,
Contented with perfume,
Dreaming the opium dreams of its folded poppies.
Firefly lights open and vanish
High as the tip buds of the golden glow
Low as the sweet alyssum flowers at my feet.
Moon-shimmer on leaves and trellises,
Moon-spikes shafting through the snow ball bush.
Only the little faces of the ladies’ delight are alert and staring,
Only the cat, padding between the roses,
Shakes a branch and breaks the chequered pattern
As water is broken by the falling of a leaf.
Then you come,
And you are quiet like the garden,
And white like the alyssum flowers,
And beautiful as the silent sparks of the fireflies.
Ah, Beloved, do you see those orange lilies?
They knew my mother,
But who belonging to me will they know
When I am gone.
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I had a fairly productive Friday: I finished putting all the rock/pop/country CDs into the remaining binder, and I freecycled six of the milk crates in which we'd stacked them -- I had no idea dozens of people would want them. Then I started sorting the children's books -- we have duplicates of several -- to try to get some of the boxes out of the upstairs bedrooms.
We took a walk at Cabin John Park, had dinner with my parents who also got us ice cream from The Scoop, then came home and have been catching up on The Crown (again I feel like the Queen is the least interesting character to the writers). From Annmarie Garden's Garden in Lights show, the nautical display, ranging from Chesapeake Bay creatures to the fantastical:
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