Flow'r and song in our garden-close
Like wedded lovers have grown one word.
I could weave you a wreath from the notes of that bird,
And pluck you a song from the heart of this rose.
DWELLERS IN THE GARDEN
Who dwelt here of old?
Hush! If I lift from the misty years
The veil of dead smiles and forgotten tears,
I think I can picture a little maid
Crowned with plaits of gold,