In the yard I discovered a rose bed
Grown over with creepers, thistles and weeds.
I looked for a time; considered its needs,
then started to work, digging up the dead
bushes, and the brambles with thorns that pluck
and cling. The roots were deep and dark and came
up almost like a mandrake with a scream.
At last I saw some order, and was struck
with an understanding of the gardener’s plan:
There were five beds of roses side by side,
Ten rose bushes in each bed; and I spied
beneath the weeds four paths to walk and stand.
I wondered at the mystery of the place,
and how a formal garden could release
—such a sudden, certainty of peace.