Paths

I.

What words of mine can tell the spell Of garden ways I know so well?-- The path that takes me, in the spring, Past quinces where the blue-birds sing, Where peonies are blossoming, Unto a porch, wistaria-hung, Around whose steps May-lilies blow, A fair girl reaches down among, Her arm more white than their sweet snow.

II.

What words of mine can tell the spell Of garden ways I know so well?-- Another path that leads me, when The summer-time is here again, Past hollyhocks that shame the west When the red sun has sunk to rest; To roses bowering a nest, A lattice, 'neath which mignonette And deep geraniums surge and sough, Where, in the twilight, starless yet, A fair girl's eyes are stars enough.

III.

What words of mine can tell the spell Of garden ways I know so well?-- A path that takes me, when the days Of autumn wrap themselves in haze, Beneath the pippin-pelting tree, 'Mid flitting butterfly and bee; Unto a door where, fiery, The creeper climbs; and, garnet-hued, The cock's-comb and the dahlia flare, And in the door, where shades intrude, Gleams out a fair girl's sunbeam hair.

IV.

What words of mine can tell the spell Of garden ways I know so well?-- A path that brings me o'er the frost Of winter, when the moon is tossed In clouds; beneath great cedars, weak With shaggy snow; past shrubs blown bleak With shivering leaves; to eaves that leak The tattered ice, whereunder is A fire-flickering window-space; And in the light, with lips to kiss, A fair girl's welcome-giving face.