Poems (Scudder)/Jeanne and a City Garden
JEANNE AND A CITY GARDEN
Often I thought of Jeanne the Maiden While I played in our garden all alone Where a thousand-flowered honeysuckle Climbed an old barn wall of creamy stone.
Jeanne in the oak-wood of Domremy, Jeanne in her father's orchard-close Hearing the sweet, unearthly Voices— Oh, far and very far from those
Seemed the little girl with tangled elf-locks In her knee-short frock of navy blue Who read and dreamed of the Hero-Virgin While the warm June days dragged slowly through.
But I thought the eyes that Jeanne had visioned 'Mid the dim oak-boughs of Domremy Were looking down star-clear and tender Through the dark leaves of our tulip-tree.
And I heard faint voices through the clamor That over the neighbors' gardens came Past the high brick wall where yellow roses Clambered and crept like a tawny flame.
And the tall dove-cote so oddly gabled Where a plump dove preened his moony breast Was a Gothic spire of grey and silver Clear outlined on the rosy west.
And the flowers by the warm bricks growing Red, golden, violet—at a glance Were splendid knights and ladies riding To the crowning of the King of France.
Still, when I read of green Domremy I can see that narrow garden plot Where I grew heartsease and ragged-sailors In a border of forget-me-not.
Of its pebbled path and straggling laurels I think when I hear of Blessed Jeanne—Of its climbing, tawny yellow roses That smelled like honey and cinnamon.