The Conflagration by Ellen Hamlin Butler

Review and Herald Publishing Association · Washington, D. C. · Nov 19, 1903

The Conflagration

By Ellen Hamlin Butler

It started in the garden ground, And no one was to blame. We only filled a little mound With dancing tulip-flame.

We thought it quenched in June, but O, Just where the roses grew, A tiny ember smoldered low, And when the south winds blew,

They scattered petals full of coals; The mischief had begun, Nor might we then, to save our souls, Undo what had been done.

Nasturtium fires crept out, and flared Along the garden walk. The hollyhocks like torches glared, A light on every stalk.

The scotch-mist puffed its clouds of smoke, The hills were dim with haze, And goldenrod and sumac broke Into a mighty blaze.

Across the fields the fire-tide turned, O’erleaping stream and road. The hillside like a furnace burned, The forest gleamed and glowed.

We watched the conflagration grow Till, one November night, A tempest blast of sleet and snow Put out its splendid light.

Now we have no excuse to bring. There’s nothing to be said, But every one of us, next spring, Will guard his tulip bed!

— Ellen Hamlin Butler, in Youth’s Companion.