A LITTLE GAEDEN THE YEAR ROUND 



Just where that silv'ry well holds shaded pool 

 To quench perchance the thirst of grateful 



glade, 

 Nestles some Primrose, seeming half afraid 

 To fill its cup of gold with vintage cool. 



The very wheel whereon the Thread of Life 

 Is coarsely spun, or drawn by Her, 

 Who with the Other Two, heeds not its whirr. 

 Less noisy is than yonder bees at strife. 



They seek the honey of the Asphodel, 

 And all her treasure, despite her moaned grief. 

 Tear from her keeping; each a wanton thief. 

 Breaks calyx-bolt she thought would guard it 

 well. 



Like sea of Sicily yon laving tide 

 Of meadow-land the garden-shore with spray 

 Of Sedgegrass kisses in sweet windwaft way; 

 The flush-tinged Daisies in the hedgerow hide. 



Lol Now at eventide the Mignonette 

 In fair conspiracy with Jasmine-flower 

 Breathes incense to perfmne this holy hour; 

 A nightingale sings from its minaret. 



