NEW COLLEGE GARDENS, OXFORD

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.