XXVII

Come down the woodland way a while with me. Be still, and know the spirit of this place That is my garden. How each flower's face Turns to us o'er the serried rosemary Which guard my lilies from captivity! What slow unfolding of the harebell's grace! What quiet moving of majestic pace In the persistence of the shrub and tree!

Made one with Nature, you, my Love, and I Are reconciled; for life to us is good, Who heard a Presence in the garden cry: "Delve earth, smite rock, plunge pool, and cleave the wood; There thou shalt find Me!" ... Dear, and we have found Peace through our loyal kinsmen of the ground.