Revery
J
John Jay Chapman
0
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I HAVE a garden,—weeds paradise call it;
The moles hold the paths in fee;
The wild creepers rave
O'er the flowers' grave,
O'er box-row and nodding pear-tree.
The heart-broken, moss-covered railings that wall it,
Have made an arbor for me;
And I lie in an angle
Of the dappled tangle
And dream of Energy.
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