IN PRAISE OF GARDENS 



Oh, had I never bent that magic bough, 

 And tasted of the sweetness that it bore, 

 My heart had been as careless as before, 



And all these bitter tears unfailing now! 



I curse the cruel hand that pointed where 

 My golden apple show'd a bitter flaw, 

 And his malignant eye, who smiled and saw 



My best illusions melting into air! 



But garden garden where I used to rove, 

 I bless thy orange groves and sunny sky, 

 I bless thy feath'ry palm trees tow'ring high, 



That overshadow'd what seem'd then my love! 



VIOLET FANE. 



LET OTHERS TELL OF STORMS AND 



SHOWERS 

 I'LL ONLY - COUNT YOUR SUNNY HOURS 



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