A Landscape, and a Lady

This orchard must have been imaginary,

Or in her dream's domain, not really there.

Full round, bright red, the apple and the cherry

Hung ripeness down, as if to double and share

A season out of time, and temperate air

That might have been October of July,

When apricots and grapes in color vie

With the early purple plum, and the late golden pear.

And what design would have a garden laid

So close beneath an over-arching tree?

Yet, strangely, the great maple cast no shade

Even on summer noons, and curiously

Thickened and thinned; one moment it would be

Dark-green or black as thunderstorm and doom,

And her eyes would close, then open, look up, and see

Orange autumnal fire, pale yellow springtime bloom.

She could not call the season early or late:

Time, ranker than the hardy weeds, had found

An entrance through the wall or fence or gate

And overstepped his ordinary bound:

Asparagus thrust six inches from the ground,

Yet corn in tassel stood; wax-beans were curly;

Pumpkins like basketballs; and, late or early,

The green peas, gathered, made a saddle-leather sound.

The scene could change before the watcher knew:

Was this another garden, or the same?

Gorgeous with scarlet, yellow, royal-blue,

Where ruby-throated hummingbirds took aim

At the red bee-balm: and the goldfinch came

To the golden-glow; or the rate tanager

Burned like an ember of the poppies' flame;

And purple aster rhymed with lilac's lavender.

Yet there was winter visible in the east:

Across brown fields the tattered leaves were blowing,

And some one on a gray and jaded beast,

Cowboy or knight, she had no way of knowing

In the bewildering dusk, with daylight going,

Stumbled down hill across the hummocked grass,

An image seen through snow behind a glass,

And even within the picture it was thickly snowing,

She turned her back upon the winter scene,

Famished and frozen, turned her head away,

Wanting, once more, the garden, bright and green,

Wanting, once more, the orchard, bright and gay.

"Stay," said the summer light and sunshine, "Stay!"

"Go!" said the heart's persistent winter, "Go!"

"Oh Yes, oh Yes!" blossom and bird would say,

But ice and cold and darkness all said, "No!"

She came a little closer, read the signs:

Trespassing Allowed, the notice said.

There was no angel with great wings outspread

Before the open gate, no serpent creeping

Into the rocky wall or through the vines;

And the old god with his broomstick tipped with red

Made her feel first like laughing, then like weeping,

Then came an icy wind, to chill the dead,

And the cloud was black again, and the snow was swift and

sweeping.