IN PRAISE OF GARDENS 



So, in the like name of that love of ours, 

 Take back these thoughts which here unfolded 



too, 



And which on warm and cold days I withdrew 

 From my heart's ground. Indeed, those beds 



and bowers 



Be overgrown with bitter weeds and rue, 

 And wait thy weeding; yet here's eglantine, 

 Here's ivy! take them, as I used to do 

 Thy flowers, and keep them where they shall 



not pine. 



Instruct thine eyes to keep their colours true, 

 And tell thy soul their roots are left in mine. 



E. B. BROWNING. 

 "Sonnets from the Portuguese" 



The Flower's Name 



Here's the garden she walked across, 

 Arm in arm, such a short while since: 



Hark, now I push its wicket, the moss 

 Hinders the hinges and makes them wince! 



[82] 



