I

O come with me and through my gardens run,
And we shall pluck strange flowers that love the sun,
Of which the sap is blood, the petals flame,
The sweet, forbidden blossoms of no name!
O splendid are my gardens walled with night,
Dim-torched with stars and secret for delight;
And winds breathe there the lure of smitten strings,
Vocal of the immensity of things!
Come, Wailer out of Nothing, nowhere hurled,
Frustrate the bitter purpose of the World!
Thou shalt drink deep of all delights that be —
So come with me!

II

I have a secret garden where sacred lilies lift
White faces kind with pardon, to hear my shrift.
And all blood-riot falters before those faces there;
Bowed down at quiet altars, my hours are monks at prayer.
There through my spirit kneeling the silence thrills and sings
The cosmic brother feeling of growing, hopeful things:
Old soothing Earth a mother; a sire the shielding Blue;
The Sun a mighty brother — and God is in the dew.
O Garden hushed and splendid with lily, star and tree!
There all vain dreams are ended — so come with me!