The Garden

I know a garden like a child, Clean and new-washed and reconciled. It grows its own sweet way, yet still Has guidance of some tender will That clips, confines, its wilder mood And makes it happy, being good. Around the lordly mountains stand, For this is an enchanted land, As though their splendours stood to grace This little lovely garden place, Looking with wise and keeping eyes Upon the garden sanctities. Box borders edge each little bed, Paths narrow for a child to tread Divide the kitchen garden, dear And sweet with musk and lavender, And water-mints and beans in bloom. Be sure the honeybee's at home. How should I tell in a sweet list Of beauties, rose and amethyst; The little water-garden cool On sultry days, and beautiful The wall-garden, the shade, the sun, Since they are lovely, every one. Hot honey of the pines is sweet, And when the day's at three o'clock heat A winding walk will you invite To a new garden out of sight. And a green seat is set so near The sluggish, stealing backwater. The Spirit of the garden plays At hide-and-seek an hundred ways And when you've captured her, she will Elude you, calling backward still, A silver echo -- a sweet child, Demure and lovesome, gay and wild.