IN PRAISE OF GARDENS 



faint grow the tocsin, the trumpet, the drum! 

 Enswathe me, enfold me ; white maidens, I come ! 



Ah, stay me with lilies, sweet press of your faces, 

 The nearness and warmth of your mystic em- 



braces, 



Dissolving the lonely inviolate state 

 Which I shared with the dwellers outside of 



your gate! 

 By a superincession fantastical, sweet, 



1 am merged in the maids of this shadow'd re- 



treat ; 



They are I, I am they, neither many nor one, 

 As the light and the warmth from the fount of 



the sun. 



Within the charm'd walls is a place of delight, 

 And a world from its windows shines strange to 



the sight, 



With the pomp of the night and the glory of day 

 Where the long golden prospects stretch shining 



away. 



With pennons and banners the pageants pass by, 

 And the crash of their music goes up to the sky; 

 The centre and shrine is the paradise fair 

 And crown'd 'midst his maidens the monarch is 



there. 



[202] 



