IN PRAISE OF GARDENS 



Where the high red walls, which are growing 



grey 



With their lichen and moss embroideries, 

 Seem sadly and sternly to shut out life, 

 Because it is often as red as they; 



Where even the bee has time to glide 

 (Gathering gayly his honey's store) 



Right to the heart of the old-world flowers 

 China-asters and purple stocks, 

 Dahlias and tall red holly-hocks, 



Laburnums raining their golden showers, 

 Columbines prim of the folded core, 

 And lupins, and larkspurs, and " London pride " ; 



Where the heron is waiting amongst the reeds, 

 Grown tame in the silence that reigns around, 



Broken only, now and then, 

 By shy woodpecker or noisy jay, 

 By the far-off watch-dog's muffled bay; 



But where never the purposeless laughter of 



men, 



Or the seething city's murmurous sound 

 Will float up over the river-weeds. 



[172] 



