In a Garden

The world is resting without sound or motion,

Behind the apple tree the sun goes down

Painting with fire the spires and the windows

In the elm-shaded town.

Beyond the calm Connecticut the hills lie

Silvered with haze as fruits still fresh with bloom,

The swallows weave in flight across the zenith

On an aerial loom.

Into the garden peace comes back with twilight,

Peace that since noon had left the purple phlox,

The heavy-headed asters, the late roses

And swaying hollyhocks.

For at high-noon I heard from this same garden

The far-off murmur as when many come;

Up from the village surged the blind and beating

Red music of a drum;

And the hysterical sharp fife that shattered

The brittle autumn air,

While they came, the young men marching

Past the village square....

Across the calm Connecticut the hills change

To violet, the veils of dusk are deep —

Earth takes her children's many sorrows calmly

And stills herself to sleep.