 | Words by the Wayside |  |
32
A Vicarage Garden
I love your garden's green repose,
Shut safe from outer dust and din,
The jet your wayward fountain throws,
The fish beneath of golden fin;
Shut safe from outer dust and din,
The jet your wayward fountain throws,
The fish beneath of golden fin;
The sweep of sward, the beds of bloom,
The stately cedar's solemn shade,
The arched lime-alley's cloistral gloom
For lonely meditation made;
The stately cedar's solemn shade,
The arched lime-alley's cloistral gloom
For lonely meditation made;
The terraced walk, the ivied wall,
The music of the floundering mill,
And, like an arm embracing all,
The ridge of Chiltern's chalky hill.
The music of the floundering mill,
And, like an arm embracing all,
The ridge of Chiltern's chalky hill.
Here, faithful to her wedded vows,
All day the mother-thrush will sit,
Wee masons toil among the boughs,
Or tiny lovers flirt and flit;
All day the mother-thrush will sit,
Wee masons toil among the boughs,
Or tiny lovers flirt and flit;
And sometimes, from his reedy bound
Borne faintly past the poplar-stems,
Comes, half a silence, half a sound,
The murmur of the travelled Thames.
Borne faintly past the poplar-stems,
Comes, half a silence, half a sound,
The murmur of the travelled Thames.
Yes, happy bowers, I love you well,
Not least I love you for that here
Sage wisdom and the Graces dwell,
With mirth and hospitable cheer;
Not least I love you for that here
Sage wisdom and the Graces dwell,
With mirth and hospitable cheer;
33
While hope and aspiration bright,
And faith, with eyes upon the goal,
And love of all things fair, unite
To deck a garden for the soul;
And faith, with eyes upon the goal,
And love of all things fair, unite
To deck a garden for the soul;
Where those perennial fountains spring,
That in the heart's waste places play,
And on dead Summer's face can fling
The smile of everlasting May.
That in the heart's waste places play,
And on dead Summer's face can fling
The smile of everlasting May.
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