 | A Lost Epic and Other Poems |  |
A DESERTED GARDEN.
A highroad white with the dust of May;
An old red wall, and an iron gate;
A scent of Spring-time: a blossomy spray,
Thrown over and bowed by the blossom's weight.
An old red wall, and an iron gate;
A scent of Spring-time: a blossomy spray,
Thrown over and bowed by the blossom's weight.
An empty house, and a garden-ground
That no one tended! The flowering trees
Had grown half wild. With a revel of sound
The birds in flocks made merry at ease.
That no one tended! The flowering trees
Had grown half wild. With a revel of sound
The birds in flocks made merry at ease.
The gravelled pathways were blurred with green;
The flower-beds each into other had run;
'Twas all one ferment of colour and sheen,
And scent and song, in the glittering sun.
The flower-beds each into other had run;
'Twas all one ferment of colour and sheen,
And scent and song, in the glittering sun.
And yet the place had a rueful look
For lack of laughter and pattering feet;
The fruit-tree shadowed no maiden's book;
No greybeard dozed on the garden-seat.
For lack of laughter and pattering feet;
The fruit-tree shadowed no maiden's book;
No greybeard dozed on the garden-seat.
94
Methought I saw, as I gazed within,
An idyl of youth with its bliss and pain—
The empty house of “what might have been”—
The garden of dreams that were dreamed in vain.
An idyl of youth with its bliss and pain—
The empty house of “what might have been”—
The garden of dreams that were dreamed in vain.
| A Lost Epic and Other Poems | |