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Walter de la Mare - The Sunken GardenWalter de la Mare - The Sunken Garden
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Speak not whisper not; Here bloweth thyme and bergamot; Softly on the evening hour, Secret herbs their spices shower, Dark-spiked rosemary and myrrh, Lean-stalked, purple lavender; Hides within her bosom, too, All her sorrows, bitter rue. Breathe not trespass not; Of this green and darkling spot, Latticed from the moon`s beams, Perchance a distant dreamer dreams; Perchance upon its darkening air, The unseen ghosts of children fare, Faintly swinging, sway and sweep, Like lovely sea-flowers in its deep; While, unmoved, to watch and ward, `Mid its gloomed and daisied sward, Stands with bowed and dewy head That one little leaden Lad.
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