(Westfield, N. Y.)
When I linger in my garden
And see black swallowtails hovering
Over white phlox and orange zinnias,
And morning glories, in a heavenly blue mass
Surge upward on their trellis;
When I watch the scintillating humming-bird
Sip from the trumpet blossoms across my doorway,
I feel no urge of travel to behold
More of earth’s beauty.
Here in my little garden I have it all—
And here I am content.