IN PRAISE OF GARDENS 



From bough to bough the song-birds crossed, 

 From flower to flower the moths and bees; 

 With all its nests and stately trees 



It had been mine, and it was lost. 



A shadowless spirit kept the gate, 

 Blank and unchanging like the grave, 

 Is peering through, said : " Let me have 



Some buds to cheer my outcast state." 



He answered not. " Or give me, then, 

 But one small twig from shrub or tree, 

 And bid my home remember me 



Until I come to it again." 



The spirit was silent; but he took 

 Mortar and stone to build a wall; 

 He left no loophole great or small 



Through which my straining eyes might look. 



So now I sit here quite alone, 



Blinded with tears; nor grieve for that, 

 For nought is left worth looking at 



Since my delightful land is gone. 



[174] 



