Down in the Garden Close

My garden walks are bright in the sun;

   'T is summer, the birds sing gay;

The delicate vines o'er the warm earth run,

   And the leaves look up to the day.

But of all the blossoms on the earth's broad breast,

   The fairest flower that grows

Is the one that stands, the queen of the rest,

   Down in my garden close.

   Down in the garden close

   You'll find a pure white rose.

Its incense rare

Fills the dreamy air,

   Down in the garden close.

Across the paths drift the dry leaves sere.

   The birds and the summer are fled,

My plants are dead with the dying year,

   The flowers their bloom have shed;

And the queen lies low in a soft, still sleep,

   Safe from the wintry snows,

But never again will the sulight creep

   Down in my garden close.

   Down in the garden close

   The wind with a wild wail goes.

Its chilly gust

Stirs the soft grave dust,

Down in the garden close.

William Byron Forbush

Index to poems in the collection by William Byron Forbush