Joys of Beauty

An Illustrated Poem from the Past

As a writer, I talk about the importance of being able to escape from the brutality of reality from time to time. A refuge, where you can retreat from the world for peace and healing. As a gardener, I have a more tangible space. You don’t need land, or dirt, to grow things. You can do that with a mere window, or a wee hydroponic pod setup. I urge you to see what you can bring forth into your life that is beautiful to give you rest and joy.

My Garden

The world is sadly sick, they say,
And plagued by woe and pain.
But look! How looms my garden gay,
With blooms in golden reign!
With lyric music in the air,
Of joy fulfilled in song,
I can't believe that anywhere
                  Is hate and harm and wrong.

A paradise my garden is,
And there my day is spent;
A steep myself in sunny bliss,
Incredibly content.
Feeling that I am truly part
Of peace so rapt and still,
There's not a care within my heart . . .
                   How can the world be ill?

Aye, though the land be sick they say, 
And named unto pain,
My garden never was so gay,
So innocent, so sane.
My roses mock at misery,
My thrushes vie in song . . .
When only beauty I can see,
                   How can the world be wrong?

—Robert Service

From his Rhymes of a Roughneck, page 66 in my 1950 edition.