Poetry Archives

Oh, what a garden it was, living gold, living green,
Full of enchantments like spices embalming the air,
There, where you fled and I followed—you ever unseen,
Yet each glad pulse of me cried to my heart, “She is there!”

Roses and lilies and lilies and roses again,
Tangle of leaves and white magic of blossoming trees,
Sunlight that lay where, last moment, your footstep had lain—
Was not the garden enchanted that proffered me these?

Ah, what a garden it is since I caught you at last—
Scattered the magic and shattered the spell with a kiss:
Wintry and dreary and cold with the wind of the past,
Ah that a garden enchanted should wither to this!