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Edwin Arlington Robinson - The Garden
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There is a fenceless garden overgrown  
With buds and blossoms and all sorts of leaves;  
And once, among the roses and the sheaves,  
The Gardener and I were there alone.  
He led me to the plot where I had thrown
The fennel of my days on wasted ground,  
And in that riot of sad weeds I found  
The fruitage of a life that was my own.  
  
My life! Ah, yes, there was my life, indeed!  
And there were all the lives of humankind;
And they were like a book that I could read,  
Whose every leaf, miraculously signed,  
Outrolled itself from Thought’s eternal seed.  
Love-rooted in God’s garden of the mind.
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