The Garden

The Garden

There is a garden where Death has gone to sleep…
Dark Death like a pale tired boy nods dreamily,
For he is enamored of her and doth keep
Her luminous blossoms forever from decay.

There in the dusky day, in the dim air
Dreams, like the disturbing notes from a secret song
Shimmer and float between beauty and despair
In an ecstasy no hear endured for long.
And to this golden garden all lovers come.
Young lovers, happening on eternity
Where dark Death sleeps and dreams, there venturing some
Are briefly raised beyond desire or pity.

Raised to a pitch of beauty unendured
By faint mortality, where sobbing shakes the
Garden’s subtle silence, that immured
Sleep, from which inhuman labyrinth
Death awakes.


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