Page:Collected poems vol 1 de la mare.djvu/98

 HERE is a garden, grey
 * With mists of autumntide;

Under the giant boughs,
 * Stretched green on every side,

Along the lonely paths,
 * A little child like me,

With face, with hands, like mine,
 * Plays ever silently;

On, on, quite silently,
 * When I am there alone,

Turns not his head; lifts not his eyes;
 * Heeds not as he plays on.

After the birds are flown
 * From singing in the trees,

When all is grey, all silent,
 * Voices, and winds, and bees;

And I am there alone:
 * Forlornly, silently,

Plays in the evening garden
 * Myself with me.