PAST the town's clamour is a garden full <br />Of loneness and old greenery; at noon <br />When birds are hush'd, save one dim cushat's croon, <br />A ripen'd silence hangs beneath the cool <br />Great branches; basking roses dream and drop <br />A petal, and dream still; and summer's boon <br />Of mellow grasses, to be levell'd soon <br />By a dew-drenched scythe, will hardly stop <br />At the uprunning mounds of chestnut trees. <br />Still let me muse in this rich haunt by day, <br />And know all night in dusky placidness <br />It lies beneath the summer, while great ease <br />Broods in the leaves, and every light wind's stress <br />Lifts a faint odour down the verdurous way.<br /><br />Edward Dowden<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/in-the-garden-i-the-garden/
