0UTSIDE the garden 
The wet skies harden; 
The gates are barred on 
The summer side : 
‘Shut out the flower-time. 
Sunbeam and shower-time ; 
Make way for our time,’ 
Wild winds have cried. 
Green once and cheery. 
The woods, worn weary. 
Sigh as the dreary 
Weak sun goes home : 
A great wind grapples 
The wave, and dapples 
The dead green floor of the sea with foam. 
A, C. Swinburne. 
