IN PRAISE OF GARDENS 



The mind, that ocean where each kind 

 Does straight its own resemblance find; 

 Yet it creates, transcending these, 

 Far other worlds, and other seas, 

 Annihilating all that's made 

 To a green thought in a green shade. 



Here at the fountain's sliding foot, 

 Or at some fruit-tree's mossy root, 

 Casting the body's vest aside, 

 My soul into the boughs does slide: 

 There, like a bird, it sits and sings, 

 Then whets and combs its silver wings, 

 And, till prepared for longer flight, 

 Waves in its plumes the various light. 



Such was that happy garden-state, 

 While man there walked without a mate; 

 After a place so pure and sweet, 

 What other help could yet be meet! 

 But 'twas beyond a mortal's share 

 To wander solitary there: 

 Two paradises 'twere in one; 

 To live in paradise alone. 



[42] 



