IN PRAISE OF GARDENS 



Hope lay nestling at her heart,' 

 But alas! the cruel awakening 

 Set her little heart a-breaking, 

 For he gathers for his posies 

 Only roses only roses. 



W. S. GILBERT. 

 (The Bab Ballads.) 



In a College Garden 



Birds, that cry so loud in the old, green, bowery 



garden, 

 Your song is of Love! Love! Love! Will ye 



weary not nor cease? 

 For the loveless soul grows sick, the heart that 



the grey days harden; 



I know too well that ye love! I would ye 

 should hold your peace! 



I too have seen Love rise, like a star; I have 



marked his setting; 



I dreamed in my folly and pride that Life 

 without Love were peace. 



[162] 



