ALL day I have fed on lilied thoughts of her,' <br />The gardener's boy sang in Gethsemane. <br />'She is quick, her garments make a lovely stir, <br />Like the wind going in an almond tree. <br />She is young, she hath doves' eyes, and like the vine <br />Her hands enclose me,–hers as she is mine. <br /> <br />'She shall feed among the lilies where I am, <br />Learning their silver names. When evening grows, <br />One bower shall hold me and my love, my lamb. <br />Which shall I clasp,' he sang, 'her or the rose?' <br />When the palm shadow barred the juniper <br />He lay at last to sleep and dream of her. <br /> <br />He saw not those who came when night was deep <br />Up from the city, walking hastily. <br />One seemed a strong man wan for fear and sleep. <br />One bore a lantern. One moved stumblingly. <br />The gardener's boy dreamed on the sunburned sod, <br />Smiling beside the agony of God.<br /><br />Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-gardener-s-boy/
