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| IN green old gardens, hidden away | |
| From sight of revel and sound of strife, | |
| Where the bird may sing out his soul ere he dies, | |
| Nor fears for the night, so he lives his day; | |
| Where the high red walls, which are growing gray | 5 |
| With their lichen and moss embroideries, | |
| Seem sadly and sternly to shut out Life, | |
| Because it is often as sad as they; | |
| |
| Where even the bee has time to glide | |
| (Gathering gayly his honey’d store) | 10 |
| Right to the heart of the old-world flowers,— | |
| China-asters and purple stocks, | |
| Dahlias and tall red hollyhocks, | |
| Laburnums raining their golden showers, | |
| Columbines prim of the folded core, | 15 |
| And lupins, and larkspurs, and “London pride”; | |
| |
| Where the heron is waiting amongst the reeds, | |
| Grown tame in the silence that reigns around, | |
| Broken only, now and then, | |
| By shy woodpecker or noisy jay, | 20 |
| By the far-off watchdog’s muffled bay; | |
| But where never the purposeless laughter of men, | |
| Or the seething city’s murmurous sound | |
| Will float up under the riverweeds. | |
| |
| Here may I live what life I please, | 25 |
| Married and buried out of sight,— | |
| Married to pleasure, and buried to pain,— | |
| Hidden away amongst scenes like these, | |
| Under the fans of the chestnut trees; | |
| Living my child life over again, | 30 |
| With the further hope of a fuller delight, | |
| Blithe as the birds and wise as the bees. | |
| |
| In green old gardens hidden away | |
| From sight of revel and sound of strife,— | |
| Here have I leisure to breathe and move, | 35 |
| And to do my work in a nobler way; | |
| To sing my songs, and to say my say; | |
| To dream my dreams, and to love my love; | |
| To hold my faith, and to live my life, | |
| Making the most of its shadowy day. | 40 |
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