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GARDEN BY THE SEA
- I KNOW a little garden-close,
- Set thick with lily and red rose,
- Where I would wander if I might
- From dewy morn 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 shore 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.
© 2000 Elena and