My heart a garden is, a garden walled; And in the wide white spaces near the gates Grow tall and showy flowers, sun-loving flowers, Where they are seen of every passer-by; Who straightway faring on doth bear the tale How bright my garden is and filled with sun.
But there are shaded walks far from the gates, So far the passer-by can never see, Where violets grow for thoughts of those afar, And rue for memories of vanished days, And sweet forget-me-nots to bid me think
With tenderness,—lest I grow utter cold And hard as women grow who never weep. And when come times I fear that Love is dead And Sorrow rules as King the world's white ways, I go with friends I love among these beds. Where friend and flower do speak alike to me, Sometimes with silences, sometimes with words. 'Tis then I thank my God for those high walls That shut the friends within, the world without, That passers-by may only see the sun. That friends I love may share the quiet shade.
