THE PASSION-FLOWER, Pai 
That laid the abbey-gardens out, 
With all their fancies quaint, 
And loved a little flower as much 
As his own patron saint! 
That gardened late and early, 
And twined into a bower, 
Wherein he set the crucifix 
The good old passion-flower ! 
Oh, would I could bring back again, 
Those abbey-gardens old, 
And see the poor lay-brother 
So busy in the mould; 
Tying up his flowers and thinking 
The while, with streaming eyes, 
Of Jesus in the garden ; 
Of Eve in Paradise! 
—Alas, the abbey heth low; 
The Abbot’s tomb is bare ; 
And he, the abbey-gardener, 
Is all forgotten there ; 
