The Garden

There's faery in this garden
I cannot bear to hear him sing:

"Thee sculptors all pursuing,
Have embodied but their own;
Round their visions, form enduring,
Marble vestments thou hast thrown"

There's faery in my garden
I cannot bear to hear him sing:

"But thyself, in silence winding,
Thou hast kept eternally
Thee they found not, many finding
I have found thee, wake for me."

"Hear my voice come through the golden
Mist of memory and hope;
And with shadowy smile embolden
Me with primal death to cope."