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was a little garden set apart Secluded and inviolate in my heart,

A tender place, where there were wont to grow The sweetest flowers ever heart can know.

And oft at eventide I wandered there To plan my days or lift my thoughts in prayer.

But by and by there gathered at the gate A throng that importuned me early, late:

"O, let us in to see your garden fair, Its fragrance and its pleasantness to share,

"To walk with you amidst the cooling shade And count your pretty flowers ere they fade."

And so at last—perchance with secret pride— I drew the bolt and flung the portals wide,