The Garden
Bring me the flowers, I will weave them in? The long strands of the green, sweet, vine, Bring me the blossoms, fresh from the hand Of the morning sun; and a few handfuls, Sprinkled softly like dew on the leaves.
The tall grass shall wave, and the thick wild flowers Stare out, while the winds speak low and soft, And the swarm of the bees will rise to their nests, And shall mingle their praises in with the fruits.
Oh! long will it wait for the ravished ear, For the moments are fleeting, like passing sands; But I walk through the garden to hear their song, And laugh with the birds in their leaf-lit lands!!
- Paul Laurence Dunbar