A Girl's Garden

by Robert Frost

　　

---

A neighbor of mine in the villageLikes to tell how one springWhen she was a girl on the farm, she didA childlike thing. One day she asked her fatherTo give her a garden plotTo plant and tend and reap herself,And he said, “Why not?” In casting about for a cornerHe thought of an idle bitOf walled-off ground where a shop had stood,And he said, “Just it.” And he said, “That ought to make youAn ideal one-girl farm,And give you a chance to put some strengthOn your slim-jim arm.” It was not enough of a garden,Her father said, to plough;So she had to work it all by hand,But she don’t mind now. She wheeled the dung in the wheelbarrowAlong a stretch of road;But she always ran away and leftHer not-nice load. And hid from anyone passing.And then she begged the seed.She says she thinks she planted oneOf all things but weed. A hill each of potatoes,Radishes, lettuce, peas,Tomatoes, beets, beans, pumpkins, corn,And even fruit trees. And yes, she has long mistrustedThat a cider apple treeIn bearing there to-day is hers,Or at least may be. Her crop was a miscellanyWhen all was said and done,A little bit of everything,A great deal of none. Now when she sees in the villageHow village things go,Just when it seems to come in right,She says, “I know! It’s as when I was a farmer–––”Oh, never by way of advice!And she never sins by telling the taleTo the same person twice.

---

---