A little garden on a bleak 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 ministries. But no, — For wonder-working faith has made it blow With flowers many hued and starry-eyed. Here sleeps the sun long, idle summer hours; Here butterflies and bees fare far to rove Amid the crumpled leaves of poppy flowers; Here four o`clocks, to the passionate night above Fling whiffs of perfume, like pale incense showers. A little garden, loved with a great love!SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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