GRANDMAMA'S GARDEN.

Bruce Herald, Volume XXXIX, Issue 180, 23 October 1903, Page 2

GRANDMAMA'S GARDEN.

dut from the dusk of the days gone by That come to me now as dreams Smiles a picture framed by the cuir.mer sky And the sunshine's golden beams; 'Tis a little garden bright with bloom Or flowers both sweet ahd rare, And from April's sun to November's gloom There were always blossoms thereBlossoms fragrant and blossoms gay . Or "synching; as any elf, And blossoms as quaint and sweet always As the gardener was tierself ; For 'twas grandmamma tended them care- . fully And they seemed to understand y£ :. „-• The loving care and sympathy - "• X;In the touch of her skillful hand. '?■' . Roses and lilacs and mignonette, . . Peonies, pinks and phiox, - Blue-eyed pansies- and violets, : Daisies and hollyhocks; ■• Fair syringas and Jack-and- Jill, ' Larkspur and columbine, Dahlias of many a velvet frill Asters and yellow-vine; There was hardly a flower of form or hue Of the sweet old-fashioned kind That one could look her garden through And fail its like to find. . Oft as a child I wandered there And I can remember still How grandmamma severed the blossoms fair My little apron to fill. Still I can see her winning grace And her words' l can recall: "Thou, my child, with thy baby face ...■' ■> Art the sweetest flower of all." . : '" ; ' Often she severed the silken bloom Of the fair syringa flowers, Tet little I knew their sweet perfume Brought grandmamma vanished hours, - For once in her tresses of raven hair In the joy of a glad June-tMe, Grandmamma wore the syringa fair As a lovely, winsome bride; Now as I look down the yesterdays — The vistas of years gone by The sweetest picture that meets my gaze Is framed by the blue, blue sky. I love notthe modern blossoms less That charm with their beauty rare, Yet a bit of heaven's loveliness Seemed grandmamma's garden fair; . Ah many a summer's silvery rain And many a winter's snow Have softly come and gone again j Since that sweet long ago. But the gardener quaint and her dear dead flowers My heart shall ne'er forget. For in memories sweet of childhood's hours I see them smiling yet. —Ohio Farmer.