SHE show'd me where the wakeful gardens grow

Bright with the opening blossom of the Spring,

The fairy births that ever burgeon--lo!

Out of the teeming shadowland of thought:

Such new delight, new hope, new life they bring

(Heart cannot feel nor these dull numbers tell)

As all rare poets down the years have sought,

--Gardens of light and Spring perpetual.

She told me how the Traveller in the way

Borrows fair wings from all the flowery pride

Empurpling the hedge-row at his side:

And how, sped onward by each glad delay--

By wayward Fancy, sudden to inspire,

Or Peril calling Valour to the fray,

Or human Love yet hot with Heav'nly fire--

He gains the city gate--past foe and friend--

With full spoil laden at the journey's end.