In a Garden.

I saw my fair one plucking fruit,
The velvet peach and dusky plum;
And, as she stooped to gather some
That hid themselves in scarlet plots
And blue beds of forget-me-nots,
I stood as though I'd taken root,
And durst not lift intruding foot—
So, leaning on a neighbouring gum,
(I knew she had not seen me come),
I watched her stand, and upward reach
And shame the pink of tinted peach
In stretching where some ripe one lies
Behind its screen of leafy green,
With just a speck of crimson seen—
The burning kiss of summer skies—

Then turn, some laurel leaves to cull
Wherewith to trim her basketful,
And as she eat with careless grace,
And set each beauty in its place,
I drank the scene with open eyes,
And like half-wakened memories,
Came tender thoughts in quiet mood
That made me wish for solitude.
I could not choose to linger there
Where all was grace and debonair,
Where every movement seemed to be
Some preconcerted melody,
Where but to speak was to destroy
The blissful calm, the tender joy.

So turning from the magic spell,
And from the form I loved so well,
I mused how pleasure often springs
From far-off-half-remembered things,
And how the vision I had met
Might yield a richer harvest yet;
Then stole away—and in my mind
I carry still that garden scene,
The motions of my graceful queen,
And all the beauty left behind,
The charm of flowers, the wealth of fruit,
The dusky plum and velvet peach,
And the bright lesson that they teach,
How grace and beauty more than preach,
And to the soul are never mute.