The Garden

Seeds of silence stir to light,
Their vessels fraught with joy,
Where dew-drops play at rounds of sight,
In games of air and joy.

Oh how the green things grow,
With leafy sounds of chirping day,
Hiding life beneath the brow
Which, while the summer’s sun holds sway,
Grows ever bright and bright—
In gardens both behind and before
Life flourishes daily,
In all its splendid power.

The song of the lark is the salvation of the morn,
Heaven’s echo sung by earth-born men;
With flowers blooming on every brow,
Our joys yield birth to humble heart—
And go forth unto the dark,
For even in shadow
The world is ours to sing.

• Coventry Patmore