The Garden
When you come to my garden
All is peaceful.
The leaves are grasping
At the sunlight,
In the soft breath of morning.
They awaken slowly,
With the scent of dew.
And flowers bloom bright
Against the dark shadows
Of the old trees,
Where birds chatter
In joyous notes.
Here I find my heartrest,
The pulse of life
Against the cries of men –
Who trample and flee,
Frantic in their cares.
So step lightly,
Let our feet blend
With the swaying flowers
And we’ll wander deep,
In this garden,
Steady.

• Christopher Isherwood