  I have a garden in the city’s grime Where secretly my heart keeps summer time; Where blow such airs of rapture on my eyes As those blest dreamers know in Paradise, Who after lives of longing come at last Where anguish of vain love is overpast. When the broad noon lies shadeless on the street, And traffic roars, and toilers faint with heat, Where men forget that ever woods were green, The wonders of my garden are not seen. Only at night the magic doors disclose Its labyrinths of lavender and rose; And honeysuckle, white beneath its moon, Whispers me softly thou art coming soon; And led by Love’s white hand upon my wrist Beside its glimmering fountains I keep tryst. O Love, this moving fragrance on my hair,— Is it thy breath, or some enchanted air From far, uncharted realms of mystery Which I have dreamed of but shall never see? O Love, this low, wild music in my ears, Is it the heart-beat of thy hopes and fears, Or the faint cadence of some fairy song On winds of boyhood memory blown along? O Love, what poignant ecstasy is this |
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