Along the High Street people flock, a seething human stream,
And just a few steps from it all, I sit alone and dream.
Tall, shaggy-headed Dahlias look down into my face,
As I drink in the beauty of this quiet and lovely place.

Beyond the iron railings traffic roars and rolls along,
While overhead the bird-choirs fill the air with happy song.
The sodden, tattered autumn leaves come falling one by one,
The bronze and red chrysanthemums are glowing in the sun.

A white swan moves upon the lake where willows dip their gold,
Between the Yews the parish church looks dim and grey and old.
I don't know who has given us this beautiful retreat,
Where birds make song and flowers bloom just off the crowded street,
But thank you, thank you, thank you to whoever it may be
Who gave the town this quiet place - this garden sanctuary.