Quo Musa Tendis? :: :: University of Virginia Library

Nay, more: it was here, was it not,
That we wandered, two friends and I,
Past the end of June, when a large half-moon
Sailed sad in a sober sky,
And the trees that were leafy and thick forgot
To be green, and the mist-wreaths wandered by.

And the world beyond was a dim expanse
Of blue that was green, and green that was blue,
And the bushes were black which enclosed our track,
And the flowers were dashed with a blackness too,
And caught in a rapture, or rapt in a trance,
The garden was waiting: such hours are few!

For at first there were remnants of rosy light
On the tall grey chapel beyond the trees,
And the west not ablaze, but aglow with rays
That had faded: a whisper of rest the breeze,
And the silence a tremulous still delight,
And the unseen meadows as unseen seas.

And we noted a spot where the purple shade,
Which hid the tree-trunks and dimmed the grass,
Seemed to mean far more than it meant before,
Till all that we fancied took shape and was:
And we looked on a deep, reposeful glade,
Whence Satyr and Dryad and Faun might pass.

And that's what the garden must mean for me,
For me and my friends who were there that night:
What wonder, then, if I hate the men
Who prove beyond doubt, when the noon is bright,
That my glade is a lawn which can easily be
Deformed with horrible squares of white,
And peopled with forms that offend my sight.