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THE GARDEN OF METRODORUS

The Athenians mark the moss-grown gate
And hedge untrimmed that hides the haven green:
And who keeps here his quiet state?
And shares he sad or happy fate
Where never foot-path to the gate is seen?
Here none come forth, here none go in,
Here silence strange, and dumb seclusion dwell:
Content from loneness who may win?
And is this stillness peace or sin
Which noteless thus apart can keep its dell?