Here in this quiet garden shade,
Whose blossoms spread their bloom before me,
The world’s gay cheats,—Life’s masquerade,
Like evil ghosts from memory fade,
And calm and holy thoughts come o’er me.
Ambrosial haunt; the orient light
Falls golden on thy soft seclusion;
And like the lone and shadowy night,
Grim care, abashed, has taken flight,
And joys gleam forth in rich profusion.
These odorous flowers that feast the bee,
Those mimic fountains sunward leaping,
And yon red-berried rowan tree,
That brings my childhood back to me,
With hallowed scenes of Memory’s keeping.
All these, and more, with beauty clad,
Invite the city’s weary mortals—
The pale-faced maid, the widow sad,
The sinking merchant, growing mad,
To muse within these peaceful portals.
Here is the stone that sages sought,
Here the famed lamp of blest Aladdin;
Objects that tell ambitious thought,
“All that thy greed hath ever caught
Cannot like us, console and gladden.”