Garden Poems. 1

I.—The Garden.

On the town’s edge there is a garden full1
Of loneness and old greenery ; at noon,2
When birds are hush’d save one dim cushat’s croon,3
A ripen’d silence hangs beneath the cool4
Great branches ; basking roses dream, and drop5
A petal, and dream still ; and summer’s boon6
Of mellow grasses, to be levell’d soon7
By a dew-drench’d scythe, will hardly stop8
At the uprunning mounds of chesnut trees.9
This garden next my heart I bear by day,10
And know all night in dusky placidness11
It lies beneath the summer, while great ease12
Broods in the leaves, and every light wind’s stress13
Lifts some faint odour down a verdurous way.14

1 Two of these poems do not agree in the number of rhymes with the regular form
of the sonnet. They were written a good while since, before I felt, as strongly as I
now feel, that the regular recurrence of the rhymes is one special source of the
peculiar charm of the sonnet.—E. D.