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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=341908" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A Forsaken Garden</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">IN a coign of the cliff between lowland and highland,<br> At the sea-down's edge between windward and lee,<br>Walled round with rocks as an inland island,<br> The ghost of a garden fronts the sea.<br>A girdle of brushwood and thorn encloses<br> The steep square slope of the blossomless bed<br>Where the weeds that grew green from the graves of its roses<br> Now lie dead.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The fields fall southward, abrupt and broken,<br> To the low last edge of the long lone land.<br>If a step should sound or a word be spoken,<br> Would a ghost not rise at the strange guest's hand?<br>So long have the grey bare walks lain guestless,<br> Through branches and briars if a man make way,<br>He shall find no life but the sea-wind's, restless<br> Night and day.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The dense hard passage is blind and stifled<br> That crawls by a track none turn to climb<br>To the strait waste place that the years have rifled<br> Of all but the thorns that are touched not of time.<br>The thorns he spares when the rose is taken;<br> The rocks are left when he wastes the plain.<br>The wind that wanders, the weeds wind-shaken,<br> These remain.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Not a flower to be pressed of the foot that falls not;<br> As the heart of a dead man the seed-plots are dry;<br>From the thicket of thorns whence the nightingale calls not,<br> Could she call, there were never a rose to reply.<br>Over the meadows that blossom and wither<br> Rings but the note of a sea-bird's song;<br>Only the sun and the rain come hither<br> All year long.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The sun burns sere and the rain dishevels<br> One gaunt bleak blossom of scentless breath.<br>Only the wind here hovers and revels<br> In a round where life seems barren as death.<br>Here there was laughing of old, there was weeping,<br> Haply, of lovers none ever will know,<br>Whose eyes went seaward a hundred sleeping<br> Years ago.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Heart handfast in heart as they stood, &quot;Look thither,&quot;<br> Did he whisper? &quot;look forth from the flowers to the sea;<br>For the foam-flowers endure when the rose-blossoms wither,<br> And men that love lightly may die---but we?&quot;<br>And the same wind sang and the same waves whitened,<br> And or ever the garden's last petals were shed,<br>In the lips that had whispered, the eyes that had lightened,<br> Love was dead.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Or they loved their life through, and then went whither?<br> And were one to the endÑbut what end who knows?<br>Love deep as the sea as a rose must wither,<br> As the rose-red seaweed that mocks the rose.<br>Shall the dead take thought for the dead to love them ?<br> What love was ever as deep as a grave ?<br>They are loveless now as the grass above them<br> Or the wave.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">All are at one now, roses and lovers,<br> Not known of the cliffs and the fields and the sea.<br>Not a breath of the time that has been hovers<br> In the air now soft with a summer to be.<br>Not a breath shall there sweeten the seasons hereafter <br> Of the flowers or the lovers that laugh now or weep, <br>When as they that are free now of weeping and laughter <br> We shall sleep.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Here death may deal not again for ever; <br> Here change may come not till all change end.<br>From the graves they have made they shall rise up never, <br> Who have left nought living to ravage and rend.<br>Earth, stones, and thorns of the wild ground growing, <br> While the sun and the rain live, these shall be;<br>Till a last wind's breath upon all these blowing<br> Roll the sea.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Till the slow sea rise and the sheer cliff crumble,<br> Till terrace and meadow the deep gulfs drink,<br>Till the strength of the waves of the high tides humble <br> The fields that lessen, the rocks that shrink,<br>Here now in his triumph where all things falter,<br> Stretched out on the spoils that his own hand spread, <br>As a god self-slain on his own strange altar,<br> Death lies dead.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Algernon+Charles+Swinburne">Algernon Charles Swinburne</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=341908" data-title="A Forsaken Garden de Algernon Charles Swinburne" data-description="IN a coign of the cliff between lowland and highland,
 At the sea-down's edge between windward and lee,
Walled round with rocks as an inland island,
 The ghost of a garden fronts the sea.
A girdle of brushwood and thorn encloses
 The steep square ..."></div>
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