The Garden

There's an ancient, ancient garden that I see sometimes in dreams
Where the very Maytime sunlight plays and glows with spectral gleams
Where the gaudy-tinted blossoms seem to wither into grey
And the crumbling walls and pillars waken thoughts of yesterday
There are vines in nooks and crannies, and there's moss about the pool
And the tangled weedy thicket chokes the arbour dark and cool
In the silent sunken pathways springs an herbage sparse and spare
Where the musty scent of dead things dulls the fragrance of the air

There is not a living creature in the lonely space around
And the hedge-encompass'd quiet never echoes to a sound
As I walk, and wait, and listen, I will often seek to find
When it was I knew that garden in an age long left behind
I will oft conjure a vision of a day that is no more
As I gaze upon the grey, grey scenes I feel I knew before
Then a sadness settles o'er me, and a tremor seems to start
For I know the flow'rs are shrivell'd hopes-the garden is my heart

There's an ancient, ancient garden that I see sometimes in dreams
Where the very Maytime sunlight plays and glows with spectral gleams
Where the gaudy-tinted blossoms seem to wither into grey
And the crumbling walls and pillars waken thoughts of yesterday
I will oft conjure a vision of a day that is no more
As I gaze upon the grey, grey scenes I feel I knew before
Then a sadness settles o'er me, and a tremor seems to start
For I know the flow'rs are shrivell'd hopes-the garden is my heart