THE GARDEN

I know a little garden-close Set thick with lily and red rose, Where I would wander if I might From dewy dawn to dewy night, And have one with me wandering. And though within it no birds sing, And though no pillared house is there, And though the apple boughs are bare Of fruit and blossom, would to God, Her feet upon the green grass trod, And I beheld them as before. There comes a murmur from the shore, And in the close two fair streams are, Drawn from the purple hills afar, Drawn down unto the restless sea; Dark hills whose heath-bloom feeds no bee, Dark shores no ship has ever seen, Tormented by the billows green Whose murmur comes unceasingly Unto the place for which I cry. For which I cry both day and night, For which I let slip all delight, Whereby I grow both deaf and blind, Careless to win, unskilled to find, And quick to lose what all men seek. Yet tottering as I am, and weak, Still have I left a little breath To seek within the jaws of death An entrance to that happy place, To seek the unforgotten face, Once seen, once kissed, once reft from me Anigh the murmuring of the sea. William Morris

Follow thy fair sun, unhappy shadow, Though thou be black as night, And she made all of light, Yet follow thy fair sun, unhappy shadow. Follow her whose light thy light depriveth, Though here thou liv'st disgraced, And she in heaven is placed, Yet follow her whose light the world reviveth. Follow those pure beams whose beauty burneth, That so have scorchèd thee, As thou still black must be, Till her kind beams thy black to brightness turneth. Follow her while yet her glory shineth: There comes a luckless night, That will dim all her light; And this the black unhappy shade divineth. Follow still since so thy fates ordainèd; The Sun must have his shade, Till both at once do fade— The Sun still proud, the shadow still disdainèd. Thomas Campion

Does the road wind up-hill all the way? Yes, to the very end. Will the day's journey take the whole long day? From morn to night, my friend. But is there for the night a resting-place? A roof for when the slow dark hours begin. May not the darkness hide it from my face? You cannot miss that inn. Shall I meet other wayfarers at night? Those who have gone before. Then must I knock or call when just in sight? They will not keep you standing at the door. Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak? Of labour you shall find the sum. Will there be beds for me and all who seek? Yea, beds for all who come. Christina Rossetti

Love bade me welcome; yet my soul drew back, Guilty of dust and sin. But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack From my first entrance in, Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning If I lacked anything. "A guest," I answered, "worthy to be here": Love said, "You shall be he." "I, the unkind, ungrateful? Ah, my dear! I cannot look on Thee." Love took my hand, and smiling did reply, "Who made the eyes but I?" "Truth, Lord; but I have marred them; let my shame Go where it doth deserve." "And know you not," says Love, "who bore the blame?" "My dear, then I will serve." "You must sit down," says Love, "and taste my meat." So I did sit and eat. George Herbert

... Yet if His Majesty our sovereign lord Should of his own accord Friendly himself invite, And say, "I'll be your guest to-morrow night," How should we stir ourselves, call and command All hands to work! "Let no man idle stand! "Set me fine Spanish tables in the hall, See they be fitted all Let there be room to eat, And order taken that there want no meat. See every sconce and candlestick made bright, That without tapers they may give a light. "Look to the presence: are the carpets spread, The dazie[207] o'er the head, The cushions in the chairs, And all the candles lighted on the stairs? Perfume the chambers, and in any case Let each man give attendance in his place!" Thus, if the king were coming, would we do, And 't were good reason too; For 'tis a duteous thing To show all honour to an earthly king, And after all our travail and our cost, So he be pleased, to think no labour lost. But at the coming of the King of Heaven All's set at six and seven: We wallow in our sin, Christ cannot find a chamber in the inn. We entertain Him always like a stranger, And, as at first, still lodge Him in a manger.

Eve, with her basket, was Deep in the bells and grass, Wading in bells and grass Up to her knees, Picking a dish of sweet Berries and plums to eat, Down in the bells and grass Under the trees. Mute as a mouse in a Corner the cobra lay, Curled round a bough of the Cinnamon tall.... Now to get even and Humble proud heaven and— Now was the moment or Never at all. "Eva!" Each syllable Light as a flower fell, "Eva!" he whispered the Wondering maid, Soft as a bubble sung Out of a linnet's lung, Soft and most silverly "Eva!" he said. Picture that orchard sprite, Eve, with her body white, Supple and smooth to her Slim finger tips, Wondering, listening, Listening, wondering, Eve with a berry Half-way to her lips. Oh, had our simple Eve Seen through the make-believe! Had she but known the Pretender he was! Out of the boughs he came, Whispering still her name, Tumbling in twenty rings Into the grass. Here was the strangest pair In the world anywhere, Eve in the bells and grass Kneeling, and he Telling his story low.... Singing birds saw them go Down the dark path to The Blasphemous Tree. Oh, what a clatter when Titmouse and Jenny Wren Saw him successful and Taking his leave! How the birds rated him, How they all hated him! How they all pitied Poor motherless Eve! Picture her crying, Outside in the lane, Eve, with no dish of sweet Berries and plums to eat, Haunting the gate of the Orchard in vain.... Picture the lewd delight Under the hill to-night— "Eva!" the toast goes round, "Eva!" again. Ralph Hodgson

"While I sit at the door, Sick to gaze within, Mine eye weepeth sore For sorrow and sin: As a tree my sin stands To darken all lands; Death is the fruit it bore. "How have Eden bowers grown Without Adam to bend them! How have Eden flowers blown, Squandering their sweet breath, Without me to tend them! The Tree of Life was ours, Tree twelvefold-fruited, Most lofty tree that flowers, Most deeply rooted: I chose the Tree of Death. "Hadst thou but said me nay, Adam, my brother, I might have pined away; I, but none other: God might have let thee stay Safe in our garden By putting me away Beyond all pardon. "I, Eve, sad mother Of all who must live, I, not another, Plucked bitterest fruit to give My friend, husband, lover. O wanton eyes run over; Who but I should grieve?— Cain hath slain his brother: Of all who must die mother, Miserable Eve!" Thus she sat weeping, Thus Eve our mother, Where one lay sleeping Slain by his brother. Greatest and least Each piteous beast To hear her voice Forgot his joys And set aside his feast. The mouse paused in his walk And dropped his wheaten stalk; Grave cattle wagged their heads In rumination; The eagle gave a cry From his cloud station: Larks on thyme beds Forbore to mount or sing; Bees drooped upon the wing; The raven perched on high Forgot his ration; The conies in their rock, A feeble nation, Quaked sympathetical; The mocking-bird left off to mock; Huge camels knelt as if In deprecation; The kind hart's tears were falling; Chattered the wistful stork; Dove-voices with a dying fall Cooed desolation Answering grief by grief. Only the serpent in the dust, Wriggling and crawling, Grinned an evil grin and thrust His tongue out with its fork. Christina Rossetti

Adam lay i-bowndyn, bowndyn in a bond, Fowre thowsand wynter thowt he not to long; And al was for an appil, an appil that he tok, As clerkes fyndyn wretyn in here Book. Ne hadde the appil takė ben, the appil taken ben, Ne hadde never our lady a ben hevene qwen. Blyssid be the tyme that appil takė was! Therefore we mown syngyn Deo gracias.

All under the leaves and the leaves of life I met with virgins seven, And one of them was Mary mild, Our Lord's mother of Heaven. "O what are you seeking, you seven fair maids All under the leaves of life? Come tell, come tell, what seek you All under the leaves of life?" "We're seeking for no leaves, Thomas, But for a friend of thine; We're seeking for sweet Jesus Christ, To be our guide and thine." "Go down, go down, to yonder town, And sit in the gallery, And there you'll see sweet Jesus Christ Nailed to a big yew-tree." So down they went to yonder town As fast as foot could fall, And many a grievous bitter tear From the virgins' eyes did fall. "O peace, Mother, O peace, Mother, Your weeping doth me grieve: I must suffer this," He said, "For Adam and for Eve." "O Mother, take you John Evangelist All for to be your son, And he will comfort you sometimes, Mother, as I have done." "O come, thou John Evangelist, Thou'rt welcome unto me; But more welcome my own dear Son, Whom I nursèd on my knee." Then he laid his head on His right shoulder, Seeing death it struck Him nigh— "The Holy Ghost be with your soul, I die, Mother dear, I die."...

Lully, lullay, lully, lullay; The fawcon hath born my make[208] away. He bare hym up, he bare hym down, He bare hym in to an orchard browne. In that orchard there was an halle That was hangid with purpill and pall. And in that hall there was a bede,[209] Hit was hangid with gold so rede. And yn that bede there lythe a knyght, His woundis bledying day and nyght. By that bede side kneleth a may, And she wepeth both nyght and day. And by that bedde side there stondith a ston, Corpus Christi wretyn ther'on.

... There grew a goodly tree him faire beside, Loaden with fruit and apples rosie red, As they in pure vermilion had beene dide, Whereof great vertues over all were red:[210] For happie life to all, which thereon fed, And life eke everlasting did befall: Great God it planted in that blessed sted With his almightie hand, and did it call The tree of life, the crime of our first father's fall. In all the world like was not to be found, Save in that soile, where all good things did grow, And freely sprong out of the fruitfull ground, As incorrupted Nature did them sow, Till that dread Dragon all did overthrow. Another like faire tree eke grew thereby, Whereof who so did eat, eftsoones did know Both good and ill: O mornefull memory: That tree through one man's fault hath doen us all to dy. From that first tree forth flowd, as from a well, A trickling streame of Balme, most soveraine And daintie deare, which on the ground still fell, And overflowèd all the fertill plaine, And it had deawèd bene with timely raine: Life and long health that gratious ointment gave, And deadly woundes could heale, and reare againe The senselesse corse appointed for the grave. Into that same he fell: which did from death him save.... Edmund Spenser

My master hath a garden, full-filled with divers flowers, Where thou may'st gather posies gay, all times and hours, Here nought is heard But paradise-bird, Harp, dulcimer, and lute, With cymbal, And timbrel, And the gentle sounding flute. Oh! Jesus, Lord, my heal and weal, my bliss complete, Make thou my heart thy garden-plot, true, fair and neat That I may hear This music clear, Harp, dulcimer, and lute, With cymbal, And timbrel, And the gentle sounding flute.

This is the Key of the Kingdom: In that Kingdom is a city; In that city is a town; In that town there is a street; In that street there winds a lane; In that lane there is a yard; In that yard there is a house; In that house there waits a room; In that room an empty bed; And on that bed a basket— A Basket of Sweet Flowers: Of Flowers, of Flowers; A Basket of Sweet Flowers. Flowers in a Basket; Basket on the bed; Bed in the chamber; Chamber in the house; House in the weedy yard; Yard in the winding lane; Lane in the broad street; Street in the high town; Town in the city; City in the Kingdom— This is the Key of the Kingdom; Of the Kingdom this is the Key.