The Master pointed; then he looked and saw

How hedges and the funeral quietude

Of black trees fringed the garden like a wood,

And only, in one place, one gap that showed

The blue side of the hills, the white hill-road.

12

“I have planted fir and larch to fill the gap,”

He said, “because this too makes war upon

The art of dream. But by some great mishap

Nothing I plant will grow there. We pass on....