The Seed Shop -- Muriel Stuart

Another random discovery from the Poet's Corner...

(Poem #1840) The Seed Shop Here in a quiet and dusty room they lie, Faded as crumbled stone or shifting sand, Forlorn as ashes, shrivelled, scentless, dry - Meadows and gardens running through my hand. In this brown husk a dale of hawthorn dreams; A cedar in this narrow cell is thrust That will drink deeply of a century's streams; These lilies shall make summer on my dust. Here in their safe and simple house of death, Sealed in their shells, a million roses leap; Here I can blow a garden with my breath, And in my hand a forest lies asleep. -- Muriel Stuart

           (1922)

There's nothing excitingly brilliant about this poem, but it gives me a
certain quiet pleasure, both for the imagery and for the 'feel' of the verse
itself. There is a soothing consistency in the rhythm and word choices, and
some genuinely beautiful lines - it would be a lovely poem to print in an
almanac, for instance, or in a collection of 'fireside poetry'.

martin

[Links]

Wikipedia entry:
  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Muriel_Stuart

Poems by Muriel Stuart:
  http://www.theotherpages.org/poems/books/stuart/stuart11.html