from
MY GARDENS
If I
could put my woods in song,
And
tell what's there enjoyed,
All
men would to my gardens throng,
And
leave the cities void.
In
my plot no tulips blow, --
Snow-loving
pines and oaks instead;
And
rank the savage maples grow
From
spring's faint flush to autumn red.
My
garden is a forest ledge
Which
older forests bound;
The
banks slope down to the blue lake-edge,
Then
plunge to depths profound.
~ Ralph Waldo Emerson, 1803 - 1882
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