My Hidden Garden.
174
And here in a shadowy alley where no alien footsteps tread
Like cool green moss on my bruised heart grow my memories of the dead,
Softer than farewell kisses, cooler than twilight's shade
They cover, with tender verdure the scars that death hath made,
Mosses and golden lichen, like sweet thoughts together pressed,
Each delicate tuft a remembrance flowering among the rest,
Thoughts that I dare not face elsewhere smile at me in the gloom,
And from seeds of bitter pain there springs this miracle of bloom.
Like cool green moss on my bruised heart grow my memories of the dead,
Softer than farewell kisses, cooler than twilight's shade
They cover, with tender verdure the scars that death hath made,
Mosses and golden lichen, like sweet thoughts together pressed,
Each delicate tuft a remembrance flowering among the rest,
Thoughts that I dare not face elsewhere smile at me in the gloom,
And from seeds of bitter pain there springs this miracle of bloom.
And here is a lake of crystal where I bathe my soul and lave,
Naked and unashamed in its unpolluted wave,
A pure and plumbless lake wherein, Self, like a pebble cast
By a mighty hand, sinks down, down, down, and is out of sight at last.
Naked and unashamed in its unpolluted wave,
A pure and plumbless lake wherein, Self, like a pebble cast
By a mighty hand, sinks down, down, down, and is out of sight at last.
