ONE night in a garden quaint and old
We wandered, she and I,
'Mid violets modest and tulips bold,
And honeysuckles with cups of gold;
'Mid hyacinths bathed in the moonbeams cold,
And many a rose thereby.
But the flower most fair that blossomed there
We wondered at, - she and I;
A rose it was, and its fragrance rare
Was borne to us on the weary air;
And I plucked it, and soft in my darling's hair
I twined it to bloom and die.
In the fair moonlight again by night
We wander there, - she and I;
For the spirit who dwelt in that garden bright
Smiled with a smile of wondrous might,
And its fairest flower, its pride and light,
I've twined in my heart for eye.
W. W. M.