HERE in this sequester'd close <br />Bloom the hyacinth and rose, <br />Here beside the modest stock <br />Flaunts the flaring hollyhock; <br />Here, without a pang, one sees <br />Ranks, conditions, and degrees. <br /> <br />All the seasons run their race <br />In this quiet resting-place; <br />Peach and apricot and fig <br />Here will ripen and grow big; <br />Here is store and overplus,-- <br />More had not Alcinoüs! <br /> <br />Here, in alleys cool and green, <br />Far ahead the thrush is seen; <br />Here along the southern wall <br />Keeps the bee his festival; <br />All is quiet else--afar <br />Sounds of toil and turmoil are. <br /> <br />Here be shadows large and long; <br />Here be spaces meet for song; <br />Grant, O garden-god, that I, <br />Now that none profane is nigh,-- <br />Now that mood and moment please,-- <br />Find the fair Pierides!<br /><br />Henry Austin Dobson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-garden-song-2/
