<SPAN name="THE_GARDEN"></SPAN>THE GARDEN.<br/>
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There shall be dark trees round me:—I insist<br/>
On cypresses: I'm terribly romantic—<br/>
And glimpsed between shall move the whole Atlantic,<br/>
Now leaden dull, now subtle with grey mist,<br/>
Now many jewelled, when the waves are kissed<br/>
By revelling sunlight and the corybantic<br/>
South-Western wind: so, troubled, passion-frantic,<br/>
The poet's mind boils gold and amethyst.<br/>
<br/>
There shall be seen the infinite endeavour<br/>
Of a sad fountain, white against the sky<br/>
And poised as it strains up, but doomed to break<br/>
In weeping music; ever fair and ever<br/>
Young ... and the bright-eyed wood-gods as they slake<br/>
Their thirst in it, are silent, reverently ...<br/>
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