The Garden

The Garden
1536

I know a garden, sweet and beautiful,
Where tall flowers grow, as fragrant all as those
Which make the longed-for country wonderful-
The lilv and the rose
And smaller blossoms of forgotten naming
That kindle its dim corners into flaming
Or welcome the tired eyesight to repose

Beyond, the noisy city keeps her march
With fevered step, with shoutings and with cries;
Her iron streets beneath the hot sun parch;
She glares at glaring skies
Within these charmed high walls a hidden fountain
Whispers lost memories of moor and mountain,
Singing to heavy hearts low lullabies

The weary city girdles it with stone
And breathes her sodden breath about the walls-
The city seeks to slay it there alone!
Peace still upon it falls
For the soft breeze that stirs its heavy roses
Comes laden with the scent of country posies
And in its rustling all the country calls

Imprisoned! Are you in me or without,
Strange garden, all un unknown to alien sight?
The cruel city presses all about,
But, flushed with fairy light,
Your moving branches by far winds set blowing,
And mystic flowers in your borders growing,
I know you mine by right
-Hildegarde Hawthorne