INSTRUCTION

I have a place in a little garden,

That laurel-leaf and fern

Keep a cool place though fires of summer

All the green grasses burn.

Little cool winds creep there about

When winds all else are dead,

And tired limbs there find gentle keeping,

And humours of sloth are shed.

So do your songs come always to me,

Poets of age and age,

Clear and cool as rivers of wind

Threading my hermitage,

Stilling my mind from tribulation

Of life half-seen, half-heard,

With images made in the brain’ s quietness,

And the leaping of a word.