The walks are hedged with dusky green of box, 



'That once enclosed long borders, trim and neat; 

 Within them stood great clumps of snowy phlox, 



That shown at dusk, and grew more deeply sweet. 

 And now the phlox wild morning-glories seek. 



Whose silky blossoms rove the Garden through. 

 And press pure faces 'gainst the thistle's cheek. 



Or star-like gleam amid the grass and dew — 

 A thousand pushing weeds the borders hold, 



And standing with them wild and rank as they. 

 Are tender blossoms, now grown over-bold, 



And careless of the Garden's slow decay. 

 Oh, far away, in some serener air. 



The eyes that loved them see a -heavenly dawn : 

 How can they bloom without her tender care? 



Why should they live, when her sweet life is 



S°^^^ Margaret Deland. 



And where the Marjoram once, and Sage and Rue, 

 And Balm, and Mint, with curl'd-leaf Parsley grew. 

 And double Marigolds, and silver Thyme, 

 And Pumpkins 'neath the window climb. 

 And where I often, when a child, for hours 

 Tried through the pales to get the tempting flowers. 

 As Lady's-laces, Everlasting Peas, 

 True-love-lies-bleeding, with the Hearts-at-ease 

 And Goldenrods, and Tansy running high. 

 That o'er the pale tops smiled on passers-by. 

 Flowers in my time which every one would praise. 

 Though thrown like weeds from gardens nowadays. 



John Clare. 



An Old-Fashioned Garden 



An old-fashioned garden? Yes, my dear. 

 No doubt it is. I was thinking here 

 Only to-day, as I sat in the sun, 

 How fair was the scene I looked upon ; 



