The Garden

All round the garden trembling mov’d, Trees with tears like sapphire flowed, And leaves flew down, their soft weight groove, In the stillest place where shadows glowed.

There wrung the corn by hand of old, The fragrances drifting bright and wise, Till in a marvel of childlike Gold, Rich nectar sways in a moment of cries!

Oh, bring the workings of God’s hand, Reach out to there, my friends so fair, Let the flute’s murmur and the heart expand, In nature’s flow, this beauty rare!

• Thomas Hardy