Struck it through, from side to side,
Shaped and shaven was the freshness, as by garden-cunning plied.
Rose-trees, either side the door, were
Growing lithe and growing tall;
Each one set a summer warder
For the keeping of the hall,—
With a red rose, and a white rose, leaning, nodding at the wall.
As I entered—mosses hushing
Stole all noises from my foot:
And a round elastic cushion,