OUR TIMES AT HAND 



My beloved is gone down to his garden, 



To the bed of spices, 

 To feed in the gardens, 



And to gather lilies. 



I went down into the garden of nuts, 

 To see the green plants of the valley, 



To see whether the vine budded, 



And the pomegranates were in flower. 



Or ever I was aware, my soul set me 



Among the chariots of my princely people. 

 Solomon's Song of Songs. 



The Bower 



From the place I stood in, floated 

 Back the covert din and close, 

 And the open ground was coated 

 Carpet-smooth with grass and moss, 

 And the blue-bells' purple presence signed 

 worthily across. 



Here a linden-tree stood, bright'ning 

 All adown its silver rind; 



[213] 



