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Edith Nesbit - New College Gardens, Oxford
Work rating: Low

ON this old lawn, where lost hours pass 
    Across the shadows dark with dew, 
Where autumn on the thick sweet grass 
    Has laid a weary leaf or two, 
When the young morning, keenly sweet, 
    Breathes secrets to the silent air, 
Happy is he whose lingering feet 
    May wander lonely there. 


The enchantment of the dreaming limes, 
    The magic of the quiet hours, 
Breathe unheard tales of other times 
    And other destinies than ours; 


The feet that long ago walked here 
    Still, noiseless, walk beside our feet, 
Poor ghosts, who found this garden dear, 
    And found the morning sweet! 


Age weeps that it no more may hold 
    The heart-ache that youth clasps so close, 
Pain finely shaped in pleasure`s mould, 
    A thorn deep hidden in a rose. 
Here is the immortal thorny rose 
    That may in no new garden grow-- 
Its root is in the hearts of those 
    Who walked here long ago.
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