Poetry Archives

I know a garden where the lilies gleam,
    And one who lingers in the sunshine there;
    She is than white-stoled lily far more fair,
And oh, her eyes are heaven-lit with dream!

I know a garret, cold and dark and drear,
    And one who toils and toils with tireless pen,
    Until his brave, sad eyes grow weary—then
He seeks the stars, pale, silent as a seer.

And ah, it’s strange; for, desolate and dim,
    Between these two there rolls an ocean wide;
    Yet he is in the garden by her side
And she is in the garret there with him.