IN PRAISE OF GARDENS 



" Let the wind blow against the perfect flowers, 

 And all thy garden change and glow with spring: 

 Love is grown blind with no more count of hours 

 Nor part in seed-time nor in harvesting." 



ERNEST DOWSON. 



In your mother's apple-orchard, 



Just a year ago, last spring: 

 Do you remember, Yvonne! 



The dear trees lavishing 

 Rain of their starry blossoms 



To make you a coronet? 

 Do you remember, Yvonne? 



As I remember yet. 



In your mother's apple-orchard, 



When the world was left behind: 

 You were so shy, so shy, Yvonne! 



But your eyes were calm and kind. 

 We spoke of the apple harvest, 



When the cider press is set, 

 And such-like trifles, Yvonne! 



That doubtless you forget. 



[98] 



