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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=384649" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Lost Garden</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">There was a fair green garden sloping<br>From the south-east side of the mountain-ledge;<br>And the earliest tint of the dawn came groping<br>Down through its paths, from the day's dim edge.<br>The bluest skies and the reddest roses<br>Arched and varied its velvet sod;<br>And the glad birds sang, as the soul supposes<br>The angels sing on the hills of God.<br>I wandered there when my veins seemed bursting<br>With life's rare rapture and keen delight,<br>And yet in my heart was a constant thirsting<br>For something over the mountain-height.<br>I wanted to stand in the blaze of glory<br>That turned to crimson the peaks of snow,<br>And the winds from the west all breathed a story<br>Of realms and regions I longed to know.<br>I saw on the garden's south side growing<br>The brightest blossoms that breathe of June;<br>I saw in the east how the sun was glowing,<br>And the gold air shook with a wild bird's tune;<br>I heard the drip of a silver fountain,<br>And the pulse of a young laugh throbbed with glee<br>But still I looked out over the mountain<br>Where unnamed wonders awaited me.<br>I came at last to the western gateway,<br>That led to the path I longed to climb;<br>But a shadow fell on my spirit straightway,<br>For close at my side stood gray-beard Time.<br>I paused, with feet that were fain to linger,<br>Hard by that garden's golden gate,<br>But Time spoke, pointing with one stern finger;<br>'Pass on,' he said, 'for the day groes late.'<br>And now on the chill giay cliffs I wander,<br>The heights recede which I thought to find,<br>And the light seems dim on the mountain yonder,<br>When I think of the garden I left behind.<br>Should I stand at last on its summit's splendor,<br>I know full well it would not repay<br>For the fair lost tints of the dawn so tender<br>That crept up over the edge o' day.<br>I would go back, but the ways are winding,<br>If ways there are to that land, in sooth,<br>For what man succeeds in ever finding<br>A path to the garden of his lost youth?<br>But I think sometimes, when the June stars glisten,<br>That a rose scent dufts from far away,<br>And I know, when I lean from the cliffs and listen,<br>That a young laugh breaks on the air like spray.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Ella+Wheeler+Wilcox">Ella Wheeler Wilcox</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=384649" data-title="The Lost Garden de Ella Wheeler Wilcox" data-description="There was a fair green garden sloping
From the south-east side of the mountain-ledge;
And the earliest tint of the dawn came groping
Down through its paths, from the day's dim edge.
The bluest skies and the reddest roses
Arched and varied its velv..."></div>
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