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Robert Laurence Binyon - The Dark Garden
Work rating: Low

When your head leans back slowly, and gazing eyes
 Muse earnest upon mine and starry swim
 With depths unfathomed that still well and rise,
 And the words fail, and sight with love grows dim,

 Whence comes that almost sadness, almost wound
 Of joy, whose thoughts sink like the wearied flight
 Of birds on seas, lost in love`s deeps profound,
 Inscrutable as odours blown through night?

 We know not: and we know not whence love rose
 Pouring its beauty over us, as the moon
 On this dim garden rises, and none knows
 Where she was wandering, those blind nights of June.

 Hush, hush, the mystery of life is here:
 Our sacred joy kisses our sacred fear.
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