HJ IN PRAISE OF GARDENS U 



No, you never remember, Yvonne ! 

 And I shall soon forget. 



ERNEST DOWSON. 

 Yvonne of Britanny. 



Dost thou remember how one morn of Spring 

 A bunch of yellow roses sweet and rare, 

 Gathered while yet the garden walks were 

 bare, 



Into thy presence ... I did bring?. . . 

 Whispering, " Whatsoever may befall 



Within love's garden-lands of sun and showers, 

 This token shall remain with thee through all 



The silence of thy sad and lonely hours! 



WILLIAM AKERMAN. 



The Parting Hour 



Not yet, dear love, not yet : the sun is high ; 



You said last night, " At sunset I will go." 

 Come to the garden, where when blossoms die 



No word is spoken ; it is better so : 

 Ah! bitter word "Farewell." 



[100] 



