Page:The Muse in Arms, Osborn (ed), 1917.djvu/208

166 The Gardener

Know ye the spirit of your kind?

It is not Mine to make it so;

Colour and form are of the mind;

Ponder the lilies, how they blow!

The Rose

Now do I feel a bud of life

Springing from out my slender trail.

The Gardener

Soon you will bear the fruit of strife

That draws to earth the Holy Grail.

The Rose

Grant me the fulness of Thy grace,

An open heart, that ever knows

Wisdom and strength Thy love to trace,

Blossoming forth a full-blown rose.

The Gardener

Ponder the lilies! Pomp and pride,

Wisdom and honour, wealth and dress,

Solomon's glory never vied

With all the splendour they possess!

The Rose

Give me just wisdom, peace of mind,

To be the Watchman of my Tower.