IN PRAISE OF GARDENS 



Grief melts away 

 Like snow in May, 

 As if there were no such cold thing. 



Who would have thought my shrivell'd heart 

 Could have recover'd greenness? It was gone 



Quite under ground; as flowers depart 

 To see their mother-root, when they have blown, 

 Where they together, 

 All the hard weather, 

 Dead to the world, keep house unknown. 



These are thy wonders, Lord of power, 

 Killing and quick'ning, bringing down to Hell 



And up to Heaven in an hour; 

 Making a chiming of a passing bell. 

 We say amiss 

 This or that is; 

 Thy word is all, if we could spell. 



O that I once past changing were, 

 Fast in thy Paradise where no flower can wither ! 



Many a Spring I shoot up fair, 

 OfFring at Heaven, growing and groaning 



thither; 



Nor doth my flower 

 Want a Spring shower, 

 My sins and I joining together. 



[184] 



