IN PRAISE OF GARDENS 



Here, in alleys, cool and green, 

 Far ahead the thrush is seen; 

 Here along the. southern wall 

 Keeps the bee his festival; 

 All is quiet else afar 

 Sounds of toil and turmoil are. 



Here be shadows large and long; 

 Here be spaces meet for song; 

 Grant, O garden-god, that I 

 Now that none profane is nigh, 

 Now that mood and moment please, 

 Find the fair Pierides. 



AUSTIN DOBSON. 

 (At the Sign of the Lyre.) 



The Spirit of all Gardens 



Here I untrammel. 



Here I pluck loose the body's cerementing, 

 And break the tomb of life; here I shake off 

 The bur o' the world, man's congregation shun, 

 And to the antique order of the dead , 



[178] 



