The Garden of Love
I laid me down by the balmy fountain, In the silence of night, on the rose-scented mountain, With thoughts of the fronds and their dreams took flight, As I closed my eyes to the shimmering light.
The garden was wild with the song of the bee, The flowers and sunlight beckoning to me, With every bloom stirring old memories grown, While shadows danced shyly in whispers alone.
Yet I knew, as the breezes grew frail and impure, There stood blossomed hearts that longed to secure, The gold of desire that glided away, To find its own freedom in soft disarray.
The garden of love is a meadow at ease, Where hearts learn to listen in ripples and breeze, So lay me down by the balmy stream, In a world where contentment is blissfully dreamt.
- John Everett Millais