There's an ancient, ancient garden that I see sometimes in dreams,
Where the very Maytime sunlight plays and glows with spectral gleams;
Where the gaudy-tinted blossoms seem to wither into grey,
crumbling walls and pillars waken thoughts of yesterday.
vines in nooks and crannies, and there's moss about the pool,
tangled weedy thicket chokes the arbour dark and cool:
In the silent
sunken pathways springs a herbage sparse and spare,
Where the musty
scent of dead things dulls the fragrance of the air.
There is not a
living creature in the lonely space arouna,
And the hedge~encompass'd
d quiet never echoes to a sound.
As I walk, and wait, and listen, I
will often seek to find
When it was I knew that garden in an age long
I will oft conjure a vision of a day that is no more,
As I gaze upon the grey, grey scenes I feel I knew before.
sadness settles o'er me, and a tremor seems to start -
For I know the
flow'rs are shrivell'd hopes - the garden is my heart.