In just a few lines, Carl Sandburg’s “Follies” turns a spring garden into a place of memory and gentle ruin. The speaker watches lilac blossoms shaken apart, their purple scattered like atoms, then notices green leaves dipping, bark darkening, and shadows stretching longer. Poplars shimmer with silver, and an old walled garden lets roses rise red with what he calls “rain-memories.” The title hints at human mistakes, while the scene itself feels hushed and wistful, not despairing. There is a clear awareness of time’s damage—broken walls, old stories, human follies—but also a tenderness toward what survives. By the end, the speaker turns outward into May, where the open world and the sun find “your face,” remembering all. That final image feels like a quiet reconciliation: the world holds fractured beauty and still offers light, recognition, and renewal.
Follies — Summary
Shaken, The blossoms of lilac, And shattered, The atoms of purple. Green dip the leaves. Darker the bark. Longer the shadows. Sheer lines of poplar Shimmer with masses of silver And down in a garden old with years And broken walls of ruin and story, Roses rise with red rain-memories.
May! In the open world The sun comes and finds your face, Remembering all.