Memphis daily appeal. [volume] (Memphis, Tenn.) 1847-1886, 1876-08-06
From the London Atheneum-
FORSAKEE GARDEN.
4, swINBURNE.

In coign of the ciG between lowland and
At the : a-down's edge between windwnrd
Walled round with rocks as an inland island,
The ghost of garden fronts the sea,
A girdle of brushwood and thorn incloses
The steep square slope Of the bottomless
Where the weeds that grew from the graves
offs roses
Now lie dead.
The fields fall southwark, abrupt and broken,
To the low last edge Of the long low land.
Would ghost not rise at the strange guests
So long have the gray bare walks lain guest
Through branches and briers If a man make
He shall md no life but the sea-wind's, rest
Night and day.
The dense hard passage is blind and stifed
That crawls by a track none turn to climb
To the strait waste place that the years have
Tifed
or all but the thorns that are touched net of
time.
The thorns he spares when the rose is taken;
The rocks are left when he wastes the plain.
The wind that wanders, the weeds wind
These remain.
Not a flower to be prest of the foot that falls
As the heart of dead man the seed plots
From the thfcket of thorns whence the night
ingaIe calls not,
Could she call, there were never a rose to
Over the meadows that blossom and wither
Rings but the note Of IA; sea c6i b;t song;
All year long.
The sun burns sere and the rain dlshevels
One gaunt. bleak blossom of scentless
Only the wind here hovers and revels
In a round where life seems barren as death.
Here toere was laughing OF old, there was
HAPPY, Of lovers one ever will know,
Whose eyes went sesward hundred sleeping
Years ago.
Heart handfsst in heart as they stood, Look
Did he whisper? "Look forth from the
flowers to the sea;
For the foam flowers endure when the rose
And men that love lightly may debut
And the same wind sang and the same waves
And forever the gardens last petals were
In the lips that had whispered, the eyes that
Love was dead.
Or they Loved their life through and then
And were one to the end-but what end
who knows?
Love deep as the sea as rose must wither,
AS the rose-red seaweed that mocks the
rose.
Shall the dead take thought for the dead to
love them?
What love was ever as deep as grave?
They are loveless now, as the grass above
them,
Or the wave.
All are at one now, roses and lovers,
Not known OF the cliffs and the fields and
Not q breath of time that has been hovers
Not q breath shall there sweeten the seasons
OF the flowers or the lovers that laugh now
When, as they that are free now of weeping
and lauE liter,
We shall sleep.
Here death may deal not again forever;
Here change may come not till all change
From the graves they have made they shall
Who have left nought living to Iavage and
Earth, stones, and thorns of the wild ground
growing,
While the sun and the rain live, these
shall be;
TIL last winds breath upon all these blow
Roll the sea.
Till the slow sea rise and the sheer cliff crum-
Till terrace and meadow the deep CULTS
drink,
TIL the strength of the waves of the high tides
humble
The fields that lessen, the rocks that shrink.
Here, now, in his triumph, where all things
fRlter,
Stretched out on the spoils that his own
hand spread,
AS god self.slain on his own strange altar,
Death lies dead.