In beauty manifold are wrought Your gardens, full of charm and grace, That hold the best in every sort But entrance yield to nothing base. And ’mid their lawns, austere and bright, Though statues gleam and fountains play, There’s one wild dingle where half light Of faery never dies away. There hang your wreath within a glade Ere berries shrink and blossoms pine; For pixy blooms too quickly fade Plucked by this clumsy hand of mine. Yet, howsoever swift their end, They hold a more enduring seed And bring you, from a kindly friend, Good will, to dignify the deed.…
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