REVISITATION

It is here — the lime-tree in the garden path,

The lilac by the wall, the ivied wall

That was so high, the heavy, close-leaved creeper,

The harsh gate jarring on its hinges still,

The echoing clean flags — all

The same, the same, and never more the same.

That mound was once a hill,

The old lime-tree a forest ( now as small

As the poor lilac by the ivied wall ),

And this neglected narrow greenery

A wilderness, and I its king and keeper;

Lying upon the grass I saw the sky

And all its clouds: the garden edged the sky.

The harsh gate jars upon its hinges still.