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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=381444" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Two Gardens in Linndale</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Two brothers, Oakes and Oliver, <br>Two gentle men as ever were, <br>Would roam no longer, but abide <br>In Linndale, where their fathers died, <br>And each would be a gardener.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“Now first we fence the garden through, <br>With this for me and that for you,” <br>Said Oliver.—“Divine!” said Oakes, <br>“And I, while I raise artichokes, <br>Will do what I was born to do.” </div><div style="margin:10px 0">“But this is not the soil, you know,” <br>Said Oliver, “to make them grow: <br>The parent of us, who is dead, <br>Compassionately shook his head <br>Once on a time and told me so.”</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“I hear you, gentle Oliver,” <br>Said Oakes, “and in your character <br>I find as fair a thing indeed <br>As ever bloomed and ran to seed <br>Since Adam was a gardener.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“Still, whatsoever I find there, <br>Forgive me if I do not share <br>The knowing gloom that you take on <br>Of one who doubted and is done: <br>For chemistry meets every prayer.”</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“Sometimes a rock will meet a plough,” <br>Said Oliver; “but anyhow <br>’Tis here we are, ’tis here we live, <br>With each to take and each to give: <br>There’s no room for a quarrel now.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“I leave you in all gentleness <br>To science and a ripe success. <br>Now God be with you, brother Oakes, <br>With you and with your artichokes: <br>You have the vision, more or less.”</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“By fate, that gives to me no choice, <br>I have the vision and the voice: <br>Dear Oliver, believe in me, <br>And we shall see what we shall see; <br>Henceforward let us both rejoice.”</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“But first, while we have joy to spare <br>We’ll plant a little here and there; <br>And if you be not in the wrong, <br>We’ll sing together such a song <br>As no man yet sings anywhere.”</div><div style="margin:10px 0">They planted and with fruitful eyes <br>Attended each his enterprise. <br>“Now days will come and days will go, <br>And many a way be found, we know,” <br>Said Oakes, “and we shall sing, likewise.” </div><div style="margin:10px 0">“The days will go, the years will go, <br>And many a song be sung, we know,” <br>Said Oliver; “and if there be <br>Good harvesting for you and me, <br>Who cares if we sing loud or low?” </div><div style="margin:10px 0">They planted once, and twice, and thrice, <br>Like amateurs in paradise; <br>And every spring, fond, foiled, elate, <br>Said Oakes, “We are in tune with Fate: <br>One season longer will suffice.”</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Year after year ’twas all the same: <br>With none to envy, none to blame, <br>They lived along in innocence, <br>Nor ever once forgot the fence, <br>Till on a day the Stranger came.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He came to greet them where they were, <br>And he too was a Gardener: <br>He stood between these gentle men, <br>He stayed a little while, and then <br>The land was all for Oliver.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">’Tis Oliver who tills alone <br>Two gardens that are now his own; <br>’Tis Oliver who sows and reaps <br>And listens, while the other sleeps, <br>For songs undreamed of and unknown.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">’Tis he, the gentle anchorite, <br>Who listens for them day and night; <br>But most he hears them in the dawn, <br>When from his trees across the lawn <br>Birds ring the chorus of the light.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He cannot sing without the voice, <br>But he may worship and rejoice <br>For patience in him to remain, <br>The chosen heir of age and pain, <br>Instead of Oakes—who had no choice.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">’Tis Oliver who sits beside <br>The other’s grave at eventide, <br>And smokes, and wonders what new race <br>Will have two gardens, by God’s grace, <br>In Linndale, where their fathers died.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And often, while he sits and smokes, <br>He sees the ghost of gentle Oakes <br>Uprooting, with a restless hand, <br>Soft, shadowy flowers in a land <br>Of asphodels and artichokes.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Edwin+Arlington+Robinson">Edwin Arlington Robinson</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=381444" data-title="Two Gardens in Linndale de Edwin Arlington Robinson" data-description="Two brothers, Oakes and Oliver, 
Two gentle men as ever were, 
Would roam no longer, but abide 
In Linndale, where their fathers died, 
And each would be a gardener.

“Now first we fence the garden through, 
With this for me and that for you,”..."></div>
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