THIS is a holy refuge, <br />The garden of Saint Rose, <br />A fragrant altar to that peace <br />The world no longer knows. <br />Below a solemn hillside, <br />Within the folding shade <br />Of overhanging beech and pine <br />Its walls and walks are laid. <br />Cool through the heat of summer, <br />Still as a sacred grove, <br />It has the rapt unworldly air <br />Of mystery and love. <br />All day before its outlook <br />The mist-blue mountains loom, <br />And in its trees at tranquil dusk <br />The early stars will bloom. <br />Down its enchanted borders <br />Glad ranks of color stand, <br />Like hosts of silent seraphim <br />Awaiting love's command. <br />Lovely in adoration <br />They wait in patient line, <br />Snow-white and purple and deep gold <br />About the rose-gold shrine. <br />And there they guard the silence, <br />While still from her recess <br />Through sun and shade Saint Rose looks down <br />In mellow loveliness. <br />She seems to say, 'O stranger, <br />Behold how loving care <br />That gives its life for beauty's sake, <br />Makes everything more fair! <br />'Then praise the Lord of gardens <br />For tree and flower and vine, <br />And bless all gardeners who have wrought <br />A resting place like mine!'<br /><br />Bliss William Carman<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-garden-of-saint-rose/
