Page:Poems Dorr.djvu/397

AN OLD-FASHIONED GARDEN

An old-fashioned garden? Yes, my dear,
No doubt it is. I was thinking here
Only to-day, as I sat in the sun,
How fair was the scene I looked upon;
Yet wondered still, with a vague surprise,
How it might look to other eyes.

'Tis a wide old garden. Not a bed
Cut here and there in the turf; instead,
The broad straight paths run east and west,
Down which two horsemen could ride abreast,
And north and south with an equal state,
From the gray stone wall to the low white gate.

And, where they cross on the middle line,
Virgin's-bower and wild woodbine
Clamber and climb at their own sweet will
Over the latticed arbor still;
Though since they were planted years have flown,
And many a time have the roses blown.

To the right the hill runs down to the river,
Where the willows droop and the aspens shiver,
And under the shade of the hemlock-trees
The low ferns nod to the passing breeze;
There wild flowers blossom, and mosses creep
With a tangle of vines o'er the wooded steep.