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Poem by Katharine Tynan


A Gardener-Sage


Here in the garden-bed, 
Hoeing the celery, 
Wonders the Lord has made 
Pass ever before me.
I see the young birds build, 
And swallows come and go, 
And summer grow and gild, 
And winter die in snow. 

Many a thing I note,
And store it in my mind, 
For all my ragged coat 
That scarce will stop the wind. 
I light my pipe and draw,
And, leaning on my spade, 
I marvel with much awe 
Oer all the Lord hath made. 

Now, heres a curious thing: 
Upon the first of March 
The crow goes house-building
In the elm and in the larch. 
And be it shine or snow, 
Though many winds carouse, 
That day the artful crow 
Begins to build his house. 

But thenthe wonders big ! 
If Sunday fell that day,
Nor straw, nor screw, nor twig, 
Till Monday would he lay. 
His black wings to his side, 
Hed drone upon his perch, 
Subdued and holy-eyed 
As though he were in church. 

The crows a gentleman 
Not greatly to my mind, 
Hell steal what seeds he can, 
And all you hide hell find. 
Yet though hes bully and sneak, 
To small birds, bird of prey, 
He counts the days of the week, 
And keeps the Sabbath Day.



Katharine Tynan


Katharine Tynan's other poems:
  1. The Truce of God
  2. The Little Old Woman
  3. The Crown
  4. Any Mother
  5. A Colloquy


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