Forever in Bloom: Tennyson, John Banister Tabb, and Autumn’s Grace

November 19, 2019

On this day in 1850, Alfred, Lord Tennyson was crowned the Poet Laureate of Britain—a role befitting his profound ability to weave the everyday and eternal into verse.

His words continue to echo in garden paths, whispering timeless truths about love, memory, and the botanical heart.

On this day, we also mark the passing of John Banister Tabb, the American poet-priest, whose autumnal meditations invite us to find grace and gold amid decay.

"If I had a flower for every time I thought of you, I could walk in my garden forever."

– Alfred, Lord Tennyson

What tender promise is contained within Tennyson’s gentle line!

It conjures a garden not just of blooms but of endless remembrance, where thoughts of a beloved are as perennial as the flowers themselves.

Gardeners know this well: the earth holds our memories, each flower a tribute to moments cherished, each leaf a whisper of presence.

With such a garden, one need never wander alone.

Tis said, in death, upon the face
Of Age, a momentary trace
Of Infancy's returning grace
Forestalls decay;

And here, in Autumn's dusky reign,
A birth of blossom seems again
To flush the woodland's fading train
With dreams of May.

– John Banister Tabb, Indian Summer

Tabb’s “Indian Summer” sings of autumn’s bittersweet grace—the fleeting awakening of youth in the face of decline.

His vision transforms the fading woodland into a landscape of hope, where even as leaves fall, blossoms dream anew.

Here, the garden itself becomes a metaphor for life’s cyclical dance, urging gardeners to find beauty in every phase, even as the season wanes.

Earth in the house, and the golden-rod
A-bloom in the field!
O blossom, how, from the lifeless clod,
When the fires are out and the ashes cold,
Doth a vein that the miners know not, yield
Such wealth of gold?

– John Banister Tabb, Autumn Gold

In “Autumn Gold,” Tabb marvels at the goldenrod’s brilliance—a radiant reminder of nature’s wealth hidden beneath stillness and decay.

The metaphor of unseen veins of gold beneath the lifeless clod invites the gardener to consider the richness quietly accumulating in soils and souls alike.

Even when the fires burn low, life’s treasure endures, ready to erupt in color and promise.

On this day, let us walk among our blooms and fading leaves with awe and gratitude, inspired by these poets who remind us that every flower, every golden stalk, is a testament to love, memory, and life’s enduring cycle.