1918 poem : Vacant Lot Gardening

Discussion in 'Gardening' started by 3riverschick, Dec 1, 2013.

  1. 3riverschick

    3riverschick Poultry Lit Chaser

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    What a pretty poem.

    Agricultural Gazette of Canada
    Vol. 5 No. 1 1918 Page 68
    https://archive.org/stream/agriculturalgaze05canauoft#page/86/mode/2up
    PART IV
    Special Contributions, Reports of Agricultural
    Organizations, Publications and Notes
    VACANT LOT GARDENING
    A PRIZE- WINNING POEM
    IN furtherance of the vacant lot gardening
    campaign of the Ottawa Horticul-
    tural Society, Mr. W. T. Macoun, the
    Dominion Horticulturist, inaugurated a
    competition for the best poem on a vege-
    table garden. Out of the several praise-
    worthy efforts sent in first prize was
    awarded for the following to Miss Henrietta
    Wood of Ottawa: —
    MY GARDEN— 1917
    Rain-softened and sun-warmed, it stretches fair,
    Prepared to yield a wealth of all good things.
    In neat, well-ordered rows the seedlings pierce
    The rich brown mould, and seek the sunlight.
    Swift fly the days, and soon with eager hands
    I cull the radish, ruddy tinted globe
    Of pungent crispness; and green-gold lettuce;
    And that scented darling of the garden,
    The spring onion.
    The happy days glide on.
    Behold my Vacant Lot, vacant no more.
    Here grow my cabbages, dew-pearled at dawn.
    There stands my corn, beplumed like knight of old.
    Look on my cauliflowers, white as snow;
    Potatoes, soon to yield a khaki host
    To rout the hordes of hunger; and carrots,
    Beets and parsnips, and many more fair growths
    Depicted in the catalogues. All these
    Adorn my garden.
    Hark, the alarm sounds! The vision fades.
    'Tis morn; 'tis March. Deep lies the snow upon
    The unbroken sod, hiding the couch-grass,
    Snake-like roots and many a weedy foe.
    A thousand million tiny enemies, —
    Worm, weevil, beetle, bug, — in ambush lie.
    To win my harvest I must surely bear
    A thousand aches in my poor stooping back,
    And cramps in bending limbs, and sun-skinned nose,
    And countless freckles on my now fair arms.
    O say, thou preacher of domestic thrift,
    Dost think that I can conquer?
    ==================================
     
  2. Kelsie2290

    Kelsie2290 True BYC Addict Premium Member

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    That is a pretty poem, funny, reading it I would not have thought it was almost 100 years old. For a Victory Garden effort I take it?
     

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