Men cut down the trees here,
Years ago.
Now it is all Beauty:
Brambles blow,
Rose bay willow herbs sway,
Burdocks grow.

Trails the yellow cinquefoil
Far and free;
Scabious and knapweed
Lure the bee;
Star-like shines the rose-flushed
Centaury.

Dearer than all summer's
Bloom and bees,
Here you lie asleep in
Sun and breeze,
With your fair head pillowed
On my knees.

Two in a wild Garden
Loved and wept
Surely Eve, as I do,
Vigil kept,
Brooding o'er her lover
While he slept.