A little garden on a bleak hillside br Where deep the heavy, dazzling mountain snow br Lies far into the spring. The sun's pale glow br Is scarcely able to melt patches wide br About the single rose bush. All denied br Of nature's tender ministries. But no, -- br For wonder-working faith has made it blow br With flowers many hued and starry-eyed. br Here sleeps the sun long, idle summer hours; br Here butterflies and bees fare far to rove br Amid the crumpled leaves of poppy flowers; br Here four o'clocks, to the passionate night above br Fling whiffs of perfume, like pale incense showers.