Henry Austin Dobson

(To W. E. H.)


    Here, in this sequestered close
    Bloom the hyacinth and rose;
    Here beside the modest stock
    Flaunts the flaring hollyhock;
    Here, without a pang, one sees
    Ranks, conditions, and degrees.

    All the seasons run their race
    In this quiet resting place;
    Peach, and apricot, and fig
    Here will ripen, and grow big;
    Here is store and overplus,--
    More had not Alcinoüs!

    Here, in alleys cool and green,
    Far ahead the thrush is seen;
    Here along the southern wall
    Keeps the bee his festival;
    All is quiet else--afar
    Sounds of toil and turmoil are.

    Here be shadows large and long;
    Here be spaces meet for song;
    Grant, O garden-god, that I,
    Now that none profane is nigh,--
    Now that mood and moment please,
    Find the fair Pierides!