IN PRAISE OF GARDENS 



Urn of the sprayless fountain, 



Glimmering nymph and faun, 

 Gleam through the dark-plumed cedar, 



Fade on the dusky lawn. 



Here is no stir of summer, 



Here is no pulse of spring; 

 Never a bud to burgeon, 



Never a bird to sing. 



Dreams and the kingdom of quiet! 



Only the dead leaves lie 

 Over the fallen roses 



Under the shrouded sky. 



Folded and fenced with silence, 



Mindless of mail and mart, 

 It is twilight here in my garden, 

 And twilight here in my heart. 

 ROSAMUND MARRIOTT WATSON. 



" In the Heart of a Garden." 



So while with frost my garden lies, 

 So still, so bright, my garden is, 



For sure the fields of Paradise 

 Show not more fair than this: 



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