There’s such a lot of substance in this post — poetry by Vita Sackville-West, and thoughts on preserving mementos of the garden through the winter. And a nice surprise at the end!
Honour the gardener! that patient man
Who from his schooldays follows up his calling,
Starting so modestly, a little boy
Red-nosed, red-fingered, doing what he’s told,
Not knowing what he does or why he does it,
Having no concept of the larger plan.
But gradually, (if the love be there,
Irrational as any passion, strong,)
Enlarging vision slowly turns the key
And swings the door wide open on the long
Vistas of true significance.
The Garden; 1946
I love Vita’s poetry. It took me awhile to like poetry and even still sometimes it’s hard for me to understand. I think in order to love poetry one must know the author and the times in which they wrote. Vita loved her garden. Her compilation of poems The Garden cover all four seasons. However, there is one recurring theme which trickles in every now and then. It is that of the…
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