234 OF THE DAYS GONE BY 



But ever gazing with a wistful eye, 



From out the quiet of the arbour dim, 



At the bright garden, Sunday did deny. 



The house is empty of the old, sweet life ; 



The outside world long since has claimed the child, 



And gone forever from its bitter strife 



The gentle face that always on her smiled. 



Yet, though tin tended, still the garden glows, 



And 'gainst its walls the city's heart still beats, 



And out from it each summer wind that blows 



Carries some sweetness to the tired streets ! 



MARGARET DELANO. 



