How glows the garden! though the white mists keep

      The vagabond in flowers reminded of

      Decay that comes to slay in open love,

      When the full moon hangs cold and night is deep,

      Unheeding such their cardinal colors leap

      Gay in the crescent of the blade of death;

      Spaced innocents in swaths he weeps to reap,

      Waiting his scythe a breath,

      To gravely lay them dead with one last sweep. —

      Long, long admire

      Their splendors manifold: —

      The scarlet salvia showered with spurts of fire;

      Cascading lattices, dark vines that creep,

      Nightshade and cypress; there the marigold

      Burning – a shred of orange sunset caught

      And elfed in petals that eve's goblins brought

      From elfland; there, predominant red,

      The dahlia lifts its head

      By the white balsams' red-bruised horns of honey,

      In humming spaces sunny.

      The crickets singing dirges noon and night

      For morn-born flowers, at dusk already dead,

      For dusk-dead flowers weep;

      While tired Summer white,

      Where yonder aster whispering odor rocks, —

      The withered poppies knotted in her locks, —

      Sighs, 'mong her sleepy hollyhocks asleep.