WHEN summer reigned in leafy sheen,

I found me in a garden green,

Deep hidden from the sun’s gold edge,

Beneath a rose-hung thorny hedge,

Upon a space of cool fair grass,

Whereon not yet the scythe should pass;

Though in the meadows was it laid,

Where Time was stooping in the shade

As, foot by foot, with measured sweep

His engine cleft the grassy deep;

And thence fresh fragrance wafted sweet

The smell of roses blown to meet,

Mixed in the drowsÈd air and stole

In slumber to my dreamful soul.

Full long I lay in leafy lair,

Until, upon the murmurous air,

And soon my sleeping ear it smote,

And woke a trouble in my breast—

A joyful pain more sweet than rest.

Like as the voice of plaining strings

When magic hands the music brings

Out of the viols’ soul in sound

That hath a power when speech is bound,

To lift the whirlwind and the wail

Of passion’s tempest, and the veil

Of dumb desires and hopes that cry,

Until the strong winds sinking die,

Though still the wrought waves strike the shore,

Above them shrill a voice dost soar;

Or with the soft gale, falling low,

To lull the soul, sings sweet and slow,

And folds the fluttering wings of peace:

So thrilled that music through the trees;

The leaves were stirred upon the boughs,

The petals shaken from a rose,

As though a spirit moved anear.

Then from the hedge a voice broke clear:—

“O Time! O Time! Thy dial stay,

And lend to Love thy little day,

And make him free of thy domain;

For he must pay thee back again

In penal hours of longing pain.

“O Time! O Time! Thy labour stay

Between the sun and moon to-day:

Tell not thy hours of moon and noon

Lest they should find us swift and soon

To steal from us our secret joy,

And give us to the world’s annoy.

“Let Love be king in hour and place,

And give thy garden for his chase,

Set all with lilies fair and white,

And roses for his heart’s delight,

Both red, and crimson dark, and pale

Like snow that hidden fire doth veil:

Yea, give them on their thorny stem,

Before thy breath shalt shatter them,

That chaplets Love may bind for those

Who wander in his tangled close.”

Time, ceasing not his toil, far heard,

Gave back to Love this answering word:—

“Love, to Time dost thou come sueing?

Love, with all thy debt accrueing?

“Ask the hearts thy sceptre schooleth,

Seek the kings thy kingship ruleth,

Who is he that Time befooleth?

“Rest thee, Love, in thine own city,

But of my dominion quit ye,

Time is hard, and hath no pity.

“Erst for king didst thou disown me,

Wouldst thou o’er thy kingdom crown me?

Thee I serve when thou hast won me.

“Slave and servant, no man’s master,

They who will me slow or faster

Urge me to their own disaster.

“Lo! this garden for thy going,

Fair and sweet life-blooms in growing,

Gather, ere its leaves be strowing.

“Hive thy honey, sweet bestowing,

Take life’s apples, red and glowing,

Ere they fall to earth unknowing.

“Days and hours, perforce, Time gives thee

By the sun’s swift wheel that drives ye,

His shadow passed, his voice had died,

And from the rosy covert side,

Clear shining in his goodlihead,

Love to my soul came forth and said:—

“Arise, O Soul! and go with me,

And thou shalt read my book and see

Things hidden from the wise, and know

The height of joy, the depth of woe,

And hear the seas of passion roll,

And scan the dim strange human scroll,

The writing of its speechless lore,

And poesy’s unfathomed store;

The mystic birth of Song and Art

In painted chambers of the heart;

Love’s histories of bliss and strife,

And woven mysteries of life—

Yea, all that in Love’s house do dwell

Between the doors of heaven and hell.”

Now in this garden lay apart

A space contrived with cunning art,

Where whoso entered at its gate

Might choose of pleasant paths and straight,

Green walled in privet, rose, and yew,

The wildered wight still to and fro,

Who wists not if to turn or go,

Amid the close entangled ways,

Where oft, for his yet more amaze,

Soft voices, wandering, called his name,

And through the leaves sweet music came,

Clear faces showed like sudden light,

To vanish from his longing sight

Ere he might hope of help to win

The secret bliss hid far within.

Few ’scape from out that pleasaunce whole,

Few gain the inmost golden goal;

Full many wander there forlorn,

Or come out thence sore wounded, torn,

To weep their wasted lives forespent.

Thither by Love my soul was bent:

Soon in the green maze sweet and still,

I heard the brown and blackbird trill,

Where, linkÈd lan