My Garden.
With a copy of “Sonnets of this Century.”
THIS little book, a Garden where the bloomAnd fragrance of an hundred years are pent,To thee, dear girl, at Christmas-tide is sentBy one who breathes with love the sweet perfumeOf such frail flowers. Let aye the world consumeItself with toil and labour—such are allWithout the bounds of this my garden-wall,And I, in light, feel not nor heed their gloom.Come thou into my Garden! Let me showThee all the treasures that do lend it grace,These goodly Sonnets, standing in a rowTo tell of joy, tears, love,—life’s madrigal;And, mistress of the pure enchanted place,Be thou the fairest Flower among them all!...
THIS little book, a Garden where the bloomAnd fragrance of an hundred years are pent,To thee, dear girl, at Christmas-tide is sentBy one who breathes with love the sweet perfumeOf such frail flowers. Let aye the world consumeItself with toil and labour—such are allWithout the bounds of this my garden-wall,And I, in light, feel not nor heed their gloom.Come thou into my Garden! Let me showThee all the treasures that do lend it grace,These goodly Sonnets, standing in a rowTo tell of joy, tears, love,—life’s madrigal;And, mistress of the pure enchanted place,Be thou the fairest Flower among them all!...
THIS little book, a Garden where the bloomAnd fragrance of an hundred years are pent,To thee, dear girl, at Christmas-tide is sentBy one who breathes with love the sweet perfumeOf such frail flowers. Let aye the world consumeItself with toil and labour—such are allWithout the bounds of this my garden-wall,And I, in light, feel not nor heed their gloom.
THIS little book, a Garden where the bloom
THIS little book, a Garden where the bloom
And fragrance of an hundred years are pent,
To thee, dear girl, at Christmas-tide is sent
By one who breathes with love the sweet perfume
Of such frail flowers. Let aye the world consume
Itself with toil and labour—such are all
Without the bounds of this my garden-wall,
And I, in light, feel not nor heed their gloom.
Come thou into my Garden! Let me showThee all the treasures that do lend it grace,These goodly Sonnets, standing in a rowTo tell of joy, tears, love,—life’s madrigal;And, mistress of the pure enchanted place,Be thou the fairest Flower among them all!...
Come thou into my Garden! Let me show
Thee all the treasures that do lend it grace,
These goodly Sonnets, standing in a row
To tell of joy, tears, love,—life’s madrigal;
And, mistress of the pure enchanted place,
Be thou the fairest Flower among them all!...