Dear March

Dear March - Come in - 

       

Dear March - Come in -

How glad I am 

I hoped for you before -

Put down your Hat -        

You must have walked -

How out of Breath you are -        

Dear March, how are you, and the Rest -

Did you leave Nature well -        

Oh March, Come right upstairs with me -

I have so much to tell -

I got your Letter, and the Birds -        

The Maples never knew that you were coming -

I declare - how Red their Faces grew -                

But March, forgive me -        

And all those Hills you left for me to Hue -        

There was no Purple suitable -        

You took it all with you -                

 

Who knocks? That April -

Lock the Door –

I will not be pursued -

He stayed away a year, to call

When I am occupied -

But trifles look so trivial

As soon as you have come,

That blame is just as dear as praise

And praise as mere as blame.

—Emily Dickinson

March Comes In

"March is the month of expectation,

The things we do not know."—Emily Dickinson

March is a special month. Its arrival means that winter is drawing to a close and spring is near. It is the month in which we celebrate women and St. Patrick. March also means lovely yellow daffodils in bloom, rain instead of snow (fingers crossed), and my birthday. A very good month indeed. 

Image from the New York Public Library.

Dickinson's Garden

I love this time of year save for the lack of flowers in bloom. So I thought I'd share some images from a special exhibit, “Emily Dickinson’s Garden: The Poetry of Flowers,” which I saw last spring at the New York Botanical Gardens.

Emily Dickinson, the reclusive poet who famously spent her later years sequestered in her bedroom, was a well known gardener in her hometown of Amherst, Massachusetts. Dickinson loved flowers and could often be found in her garden, sometimes even gardening at night with the aid of a lantern. 

For the exhibit, Dickinson's imagined garden (no evidence of the original garden exists) was created inside the Enid A. Haupt Conservatory with a path running between the recreated facades of the Homestead, the Dickinson home, and the Evergreens, the home of Dickinson's brother Austin. Outside, a poetry walk included 35 of her poems and the museum displayed some of  Dickinson's letters and a reproduction of one of her famed white dresses.  

The creators of the exhibit turned to Dickinson’s writings, which include many references to her beloved flowers, to find flowers and plants to include. The rest of the garden was filled out with flowers that would have commonly been found in Massachusetts in the 19th century. 

Foxgloves and delphiniums, hyacinths and my favourite, hollyhocks, filled the conservatory (one very wise little boy pointed out to his mother that foxgloves can kill you. A future gardener if there ever was one). I could have stood in there all day breathing in their beauty. My only regret is that I missed the tulips and daffodils by a few weeks. The path that wove between the flowers led me to the tiny replica of Dickinson's bedroom where a small desk and chair were placed beneath a window just like the one she would have sat at, able to gaze out at the world.

I don't remember the name of these airy beauties above. Does anyone know what they are? There were so many lovely flowers I wish I had taken more photos to share with you dear readers (I'm afraid I went a little crazy with shooting the Hollyhocks). All and all, a great exhibit filled with enough colours to carry one through some grey months.

Photos of the New York Botanical Gardens by Michele.