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The Garden Refused
- THERE is a garden, made for our delight,
- Where all the dreams we dare not dream come true.
- I know it, but I do not know the way.
- We slip and stumble in the doubtful night,
- Where everything is difficult and new,
- And clouds our breath has made obscure the day.
- The blank, unhappy towns, where sick men strive,
- Still doing work that yet is never done,
- The hymns to Gold that drown their desperate voice:
- The weeds that grow where once corn stood alive,
- The black injustice that puts out the sun;
- These are our portion, since they are our choice.
- Yet there the garden blows, with rose on rose,
- The sunny shadow‐dappled lawns are there,
- There the immortal lilies, heavenly‐sweet.
- Oh roses that for us shall not unclose!
- Oh lilies that we shall not pluck or wear!
- Oh dewy lawns untrodden by our feet!
1907.
