With autumn coming on I hastened home From summer's wandering long— It seemed so brief! Rich joy awaited! In my garden I would linger, Gulping the fragrance of sweet blossoms My spring-anticipations seeded hastily. The roses are gone—I had known they'd be. Spring is the time for roses, or early summer. I should not have roamed away If roses were my quest. But sweet-peas and asters I shall find. Yes, here they are, the long rows of sweet-peas, Saffron, blue, maroon—where are the others? Wide gaps! Bare earth! Meagre little clumps Where riot of abundance should have been. Oh, careless springtime-planting! Now I recall that which must bring comfort After stab of disappointment In my flowers. Over in this corner under the weeping-birch I hid a treasure in the early spring; Too preoccupied to use it then. I dig and dig, heart thumping hard with fear— It may be gone! I dig, dig deeper—thank God! Here it is, just as I left it— My one great talent! Tenderly I raise it from its lowly bed, Holding it so carefully in both hands, Thrilled by the shimmer of its gold. Up, up into the air I lift my treasure— It crumbles, falls, and scatters down, Dust, ashes, on the ground. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FRAGMENTARY BLUE by ROBERT FROST POETS ARE BORN NOT MADE by ROBERT FROST IT JUST SO HAPPENS by JAMES GALVIN ALIENS (TO YOU - EVERYWHERE! DEDICATED) by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON POSTHUMOUS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON |