IN PRAISE OF GARDENS 



Deep in the woods as twilight darkens, 

 Glades are red with the scented fire; 



Far in the dells the white maid hearkens, 

 Song and sigh of the heart's desire. 



Ah, and as moonlight fades in morning, 

 Maiden's song in the matin grey, 



Faint as the first bird's note, a warning, 

 Wakes and wails to the new-born day. 



The waking, song and the dying measure 



Meet, and the waxing and waning light 

 Meet, and faint with the hours of pleasure, 

 The rose of the sea and sky is white. 

 ANDREW LANG. 

 Ballads and Lyrics of Old France. 



For lo, a garden-place I found, 



Well filled of leaves, and stilled of sound, 



Well flowered, with red fruit marvellous; 

 And 'twixt the shining trunks would flit 

 Tall knights and silken maids, or sit 



With faces bent and amorous; 



[56] 



