It is a new red house with no trees in the garden, only very yellow mould and gravel.
"The Story of the Treasure Seekers" by E. Nesbit
They were quite black, as of one who had tramped in garden mould.
"The Street of Seven Stars" by Mary Roberts Rinehart
There were traces of his gore in that spot, and I covered them with garden-mould from the eye of man.
"Great Expectations" by Charles Dickens
Their figures were strong and well moulded, their faces bloomed with health like the roses in their gardens.
"The San Francisco Calamity" by Various
The cabin of a small sloop lying at anchor in the stream, and laden with garden mould, afforded us the only available shelter.
"The Works of Edgar Allan Poe Volume 2 (of 5) of the Raven Edition" by Edgar Allan Poe
Spiller's face was crimson, and Robinson's coat-sleeve still bore traces of garden mould.
"Mike" by P. G. Wodehouse
The seed should be sown early in spring in good garden mould.
"Gardening for the Million" by Alfred Pink
The other vegetables productions of his garden, which was by no means a rich mould, were plentiful and luxuriant.
"An Account of the English Colony in New South Wales, Vol. 1" by David Collins
He had imported rich soil from the valleys, and in each corner of the garden gathered little hills of leaf-mould.
"Tales from Many Sources" by Various
Here and there on the brown mould of his garden behind the big barn were scattered yellow and gray specks.
"The Skipper and the Skipped" by Holman Day
OVER old walls the Laburnums
hang cones of fire;
Laburnums that grow out of old
mould in old gardens:
"Laburnums" by Padraic Colum
In the white garden lies a heap
As brown as deep-dug mould:
A hundred partridges that keep
Each other from the cold.
"Songs of the Winter Nights" by George MacDonald
Then hover by this garden bed,
With all your wilful power, behold,
Just breaking from the leafy mould,
My little primrose lift its head!
"March" by Elizabeth Drew Barstow Stoddard
She stood before him, sweetly bold,
To keep him from her garden shrine,
With hair that fell, a shower of gold,
Around her figure's snowy line
And rosy mould:
"Kadisha; Or, The First Jealousy" by Richard Doddridge Blackmore
Behold this compost! behold it well!
Perhaps every mite has once form'd part of a sick person—Yet behold!
The grass of spring covers the prairies,
The bean bursts noiselessly through the mould in the garden,
"This Compost" by Walt Whitman
My faith-inspiring garden! thy seeds so dark and cold
Late slept in utter loneliness amid earth's senseless mould;
No sunbeams fell upon them, nor west-wind's gentle breath,
But there they lay in nothingness, an image meet of death.
"My Garden" by Caroline Howard Gilman