IN PRAISE OF GARDENS 



In a Bower 



A path led hither from the house 



Where I have left your doubt and pain, 



fettered days of all my past; 



1 lingered long, but came at last; 

 One lifting up of fragrant boughs, 



Then love was here and broke my chain 



With eager hands: the die is cast, 

 No path leads back again. 



Henceforth, cold tyrant of my heart, 

 You rule no longer pulse or breath ; 

 Love, with rich words and kisses hot, 

 Has told me truth in this charmed spot; 

 And, though your hand this hour should part 

 The leaves, I have no thought, but saith 



My life is Love's : I fear you not, 

 Now you are only Death. 



And Death creeps up the garden walk; 

 But Love hastes, winning more and more: 

 My hands, my mouth, are his, my hair, 

 My breasts, as all my first thoughts were; 



[90] 



