The Garden

Lyrics
How kind, how secret, now the sun Will bless this garden frost has won And touch once more, as once it used The furled boughs by cold bemused Though summered brilliance had but room In blossom, now the leaves will bloom Their time, and take from milder sun An unreviving benison No marbles whitely gaze among These paths where gilt the late pear hung: But branches interlace to frame The avenue of stately flame Where yonder, far more bold and pure Than marble, gleams the sycamore Of argent tone and cunning shaft Propped nobler than the sculptor's craft The hand that crooked upon the spade Here plucked the peach, and thirst allayed; Here lovers paused before the kiss Instructed of what ripeness is: Where all who came might stand to try The grace of this green empery Now jay and cardinal debate Like twin usurpers, the ruined state But he who sought, not love, but peace In such rank plot could take no ease: Now poised between the two alarms Of summer's lusts and winter's harms Only for him these precincts wait In sacrament that can translate All things that fed luxurious sense
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Credits
- Writers
- Robert Penn Warren