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Famous Short Garden Poems. Short Garden Poetry by Famous Poets

Famous Short Garden Poems. Short Garden Poetry by Famous Poets. A collection of the all-time best Garden short poems

See also: Best Famous Short Poems | Short Member Poems | Best Short Member Poems | Top 100 Famous Short Poems

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by Matsuo Basho

Winter garden

 Winter garden,
the moon thinned to a thread,
 insects singing.


by Emily Dickinson

My Garden -- like the Beach

 My Garden -- like the Beach --
Denotes there be -- a Sea --
That's Summer --
Such as These -- the Pearls
She fetches -- such as Me


by Edward Lear

Q was a Quince that hung

Q

was a Quince that hung
Upon a garden tree; Papa he brought it with him home,
And ate it with his tea.


by Mother Goose

Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary

 

Mary, Mary, quite contrary,
  How does your garden grow?
Silver bells and cockle-shells,
  And pretty maids all of a row.


by Omar Khayyam

Irám indeed is gone

Irám indeed is gone with all its Rose,
And Jamshýd’s Sev’n-ring’d Cup where no one knows:
But still the Vine her ancient Ruby yields,
And still a Garden by the Water blows.


by Mother Goose

A Cherry


As I went through the garden gap,
Who should I meet but Dick Red-cap!
A stick in his hand, a stone in his throat,--
If you'll tell me this riddle, I'll give you a groat.


by Barry Tebb

TO MARGARET UNFORGOTTEN

 Two nights I have dreamed of you

Once as an adolescent, evanescent

Yet tangible still to the spirit’s touch,

Then as a ten year old in the shared 

Secret garden of our imagination.


by Robert Frost

Lodged

 The rain to the wind said,
'You push and I'll pelt.
' They so smote the garden bed That the flowers actually knelt, And lay lodged--though not dead.
I know how the flowers felt.


by Edward Lear

There was an old Man in a Garden

There was an old Man in a Garden,
Who always begged every one's pardon;
When they asked him, "What for?" he replied, "You're a bore!
And I trust you'll go out of my garden.
"


by Emily Dickinson

Baffled for just a day or two

 Baffled for just a day or two --
Embarrassed -- not afraid --
Encounter in my garden
An unexpected Maid.
She beckons, and the woods start -- She nods, and all begin -- Surely, such a country I was never in!


by Emily Dickinson

New feet within my garden go

 New feet within my garden go --
New fingers stir the sod --
A Troubadour upon the Elm
Betrays the solitude.
New children play upon the green -- New Weary sleep below -- And still the pensive Spring returns -- And still the punctual snow!


by William Butler Yeats

Fragments

 I

Locke sank into a swoon;
The Garden died;
God took the spinning-jenny
Out of his side.
II Where got I that truth? Out of a medium's mouth.
Out of nothing it came, Out of the forest loam, Out of dark night where lay The crowns of Nineveh.


by Thomas Edward Brown

My Garden

 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.


by Robert Herrick

TO HIS KINSWOMAN MISTRESS SUSANNA HERRICK

 When I consider, dearest, thou dost stay
But here awhile, to languish and decay;
Like to these garden glories, which here be
The flowery-sweet resemblances of thee:
With grief of heart, methinks, I thus do cry,
Would thou hadst ne'er been born, or might'st not die!


by William Carlos (WCW) Williams

Approach Of Winter

 The half-stripped trees 
struck by a wind together, 
bending all, 
the leaves flutter drily 
and refuse to let go 
or driven like hail 
stream bitterly out to one side 
and fall 
where the salvias, hard carmine—
like no leaf that ever was— 
edge the bare garden.


by Russell Edson

The Closet

 Here I am with my mother, hanging under the molt 
of years, in a garden of umbrellas and rubber boots, 
together always in the vague perfume of her coat.
See how the fedoras along the shelf are the several skulls of my father, in this catacomb of my family.


by Emily Dickinson

When I count the seeds

 When I count the seeds
That are sown beneath,
To bloom so, bye and bye --

When I con the people
Lain so low,
To be received as high --

When I believe the garden
Mortal shall not see --
Pick by faith its blossom
And avoid its Bee,
I can spare this summer, unreluctantly.


by Robert Frost

Atmosphere

 Inscription for a Garden Wall

Winds blow the open grassy places bleak;
But where this old wall burns a sunny cheek,
They eddy over it too toppling weak
To blow the earth or anything self-clear;
Moisture and color and odor thicken here.
The hours of daylight gather atmosphere.


by Adam Lindsay Gordon

GONE

 THE last, late guest 
To the gate we followed; 
Goodbye -- and the rest 
The night-wind swallowed.
House, garden, street, Lay tenfold gloomy, Where accents sweet Had made music to me.
It was but a feast With the dark coming on; She was but a guest -- And now, she is gone.


by Katherine Mansfield

Out in the Garden

 Out in the garden,
Out in the windy, swinging dark,
Under the trees and over the flower-beds,
Over the grass and under the hedge border,
Someone is sweeping, sweeping,
Some old gardener.
Out in the windy, swinging dark, Someone is secretly putting in order, Someone is creeping, creeping.


by Barry Tebb

WINDSONG

 I drowse and dream in this sleeping house

Fynbos the cat purring by the curtain

Suriya the sun god sharing the garden

Where joss sticks burn and my nostrils quiver

At the echo of Japanese songs, long ago.
In the breaking day I kiss your lips And taste the tongue of your waking shadow.


by Emily Dickinson

As Frost is best conceived

 As Frost is best conceived
By force of its Result --
Affliction is inferred
By subsequent effect --

If when the sun reveal,
The Garden keep the Gash --
If as the Days resume
The wilted countenance

Cannot correct the crease
Or counteract the stain --
Presumption is Vitality
Was somewhere put in twain.


by Carl Sandburg

Poppies

 She loves blood-red poppies for a garden to walk in.
In a loose white gown she walks and a new child tugs at cords in her body.
Her head to the west at evening when the dew is creeping, A shudder of gladness runs in her bones and torsal fiber: She loves blood-red poppies for a garden to walk in.


by Mother Goose

Bessy Bell And Mary Gray


Bessy Bell and Mary Gray,
  They were two bonny lasses;
They built their house upon the lea,
  And covered it with rushes.

Bessy kept the garden gate,
  And Mary kept the pantry;
Bessy always had to wait,
  While Mary lived in plenty.


by Oscar Wilde

To My Wife - With A Copy Of My Poems

 I can write no stately proem
As a prelude to my lay;
From a poet to a poem
I would dare to say.
For if of these fallen petals One to you seem fair, Love will waft it till it settles On your hair.
And when wind and winter harden All the loveless land, It will whisper of the garden, You will understand.


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