National Poetry Month: Garden Poems

April is National Poetry Month, and so naturally my thoughts turn to ways in which poets see gardens.  Has there ever been a more poem-ready image than a garden?  Many garden poems draw on the ready  metaphor of death, from the natural cycles of bloom and fade to the disillusionment of barrenness where flowers should be.  Like this poem, that to me reads like an indictment of Christianity as a squelcher of gardens (not exactly in line with the inspiration behind this blog!):

"The Garden of Love"

By William Blake

I went to the Garden of Love,
And saw what I never had seen;
A Chapel was built in the midst,
Where I used to play on the green.

And the gates of this Chapel were shut,
And 'Thou shalt not' writ over the door;
So I turned to the Garden of Love
That so many sweet flowers bore.

And I saw it was filled with graves,
And tombstones where flowers should be;
And priests in black gowns were walking their rounds,
And binding with briars my joys and desires.

I like this next poem because it a) refers to gardens as "lovesome," and b) expresses incredulity at the idea that God could ever abandon a garden. 

"My Garden"

By Thomas Edward Brown

A garden is a lovesome thing, God wot!

Rose plot,

       Fringed pool,

Ferned grot --

       The veriest school

Of peace; and yet the fool

Contends that God is not --

Not God! in gardens! when the eve is cool?

       Nay, but I have a sign:

'Tis very sure God walks in mine.

I found another beautifully poetic rendering of the meaning many of us find in garden in these last lines from "The Fruit Garden Path" by Amy Lowell: 

The moments of my life, its hopes and fears

Have all found utterance here, where now I stand;

 My eyes ache with the weight of unshed tears,

You are my home, do you not understand?

Do you have a favorite garden poem?

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Comments

[Holly]

Wow, I love that, Margaret! It's right on--especially on a chilly rainy day like today.

[Margaret Rheude]

Just wanted to let you know how much I enjoy your blog...
This isn't really a garden poem, but it describes April here in the northern climes perfectly!

The sun was warm but the wind was chill.

You know how it is with an April day

When the sun is out and the wind is still,

You're one month on in the middle of May.

But if you so much as dare to speak,

A cloud comes over the sunlit arch,

A wind comes off a frozen peak,

And you're two months back in the middle of March.

-Robert Frost