U IN PRAISE OF GARDENS tT 



Here once the Deluge ploughed, 

 Laid the terraces one by one; 

 Ebbing later whence it flowed, 

 They bleach and dry in the sun. 



The sowers made haste to depart, 

 The wind and the birds which sowed it; 

 Not for fame, nor by rules of art, 

 Planted these, and tempests flowed it. 



Waters that wash my garden-side 

 Play not in Nature's lawful web, 

 They hold not moon or solartide, 

 Five years elapse from flood to ebb. 



Here hasted, in old time, Jove, 

 And every god, none did refuse; 

 And be sure at last came Love, 

 And after Love, the Muse. 



Keen ears can catch a syllable, 



As if one spake to another, 



In the hemlocks tall, untamable, 



And what the whispering grasses smother. 



[198] 



