A Garden Song HERE in this sequester'd close Bloom the hyacinth and rose, Here beside the modest stock Flaunts the flaring hollyhock; Here, without a pang, one sees Ranks, conditions, and degrees. All the seasons run their race In this quiet resting-place; Peach and apricot and fig Here will ripen and grow big; Here is store and overplus,-- More had not Alcinoüs! Here, in alleys cool and green, Far ahead the thrush is seen; Here along the southern wall Keeps the bee his festival; All is quiet else--afar Sounds of toil and turmoil are. Here be shadows large and long; Here be spaces meet for song; Grant, O garden-god, that I, Now that none profane is nigh,-- Now that mood and moment please,-- Find the fair Pierides! |
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