IN PRAISE OF GARDENS 



The silent, soft, and humble heart 



In the violets hidden sweetness breathes; 



And the tender soul that cannot part 

 A twine of evergreen fondly wreathes. 



The cypress, that daily shades the grave, 

 In sorrow that mournes her bitter lot; 



And faith, that a thousand ills can brave, 

 Speaks in thy blue leaves, forget-me-not. 



Then gather a wreath from the garden flowers, 

 And tell the wish of thy heart in flowers. 



PERCIVAL. 



(Quoted from Helen Milman's " My Kalendar of Country Delights.") 



A Garden Lyric 



We have loiter'd and laugh'd in the flowery croft, 

 We have met under wintry skies; 



Her voice is the dearest voice, and soft 

 Is the light in her gentle eyes; 



[92] 



