An Exile's Garden

I live in the heart of a garden With cypresses all about; To the east and west, and the south and north, Straight shadowy paths run out.

There are ancient gods in my garden; They have faces young and pale; And a hundred thousand roses here Enrapture the nightingale.

Yet, among the gods of the garden, The roses and gods, I think, Daylong, of a far-off clover field, And the song of a bob-o-link.