A Southern Garden

Clifton Scollard (1860-1932)

 

Over the wall the bougainvillea vine

Droops in the languid breeze,

As purple as ethereal twilight wine

In crystal chalices.

 

Above, where palms and pointed cedars tower,

The cardinal wings along,

Like petals of the red hibiscus flower

Dowered with the gift of song.

 

After the chill of life, its moil, its stress,

How wrapt in rest it seems!—

Here is the Garden of forgetfulness,

Here is the Bourn of Dreams!

 

A Little Poetry—’Moil’ is drudgery. A ‘bourn’ is a boundary.