Francis Turner Palgrave (1824–1897)

THERE is a garden where lilies

And roses are side by side;

And all day between them in silence

The silken butterflies glide.

I may not enter the garden,

Tho’ I know the road thereto;

And morn by morn to the gateway

I see the children go.

They bring back light on their faces;

But they cannot bring back to me

What the lilies say to the roses,

Or the songs of the butterflies be.