THE DESERTED GARDEN 223 



It did not move my grief, to see 

 The trace of human step departed. 

 Because the garden was deserted, 

 The blither place for me ! 



Friends, blame me not ! a narrow ken 

 Hath childhood 'twixt the sun and sward : 

 We draw the moral afterward 

 We feel the gladness then. 



And gladdest hours for me did glide 

 In silence at the rose-tree wall : 

 A thrush made gladness musical 

 Upon the other side. 



Nor he nor I did e'er incline 

 To peck or pluck the blossoms white 

 How should I know but that they might 

 Lead lives as glad as mine ? 



To make my hermit-home complete, 

 I brought clear water from the spring 

 Praised in its own low murmuring, 

 And cresses glossy wet. 



And so, I thought my likeness grew 

 (Without the melancholy tale) 

 To "gentle hermit of the dale," 

 And Angelina too. 



For oft I read within my nook 

 Such minstrel stories ! till the breeze 

 Made sounds poetic in the trees, 

 And then I shut the book. 



