There is a place, quite far from here;
Where bushes hide a lonely bench,
A redundant swing accompanies,
Both sheltered by overhanging trees,
Like a whisper in the dark.
At night-time we were often there,
Would hear few passers-by go by,
Never knowing our true bent,
Little guessing we were present,
In this realm we came to love.
In one clear dream it did appear,
Chance had made it seem so different,
Though in truth it was the same,
Hand in hand we took a lane,
Out through an open gateway.