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In an Old Town Garden

 Shut from the clamor of the street
By an old wall with lichen grown,
It holds apart from jar and fret
A peace and beauty all its own.
The freshness of the springtime rains And dews of morning linger here; It holds the glow of summer noons And ripest twilights of the year.
Above its bloom the evening stars Look down at closing of the day, And in its sweet and shady walks Winds spent with roaming love to stray, Upgathering to themselves the breath Of wide-blown roses white and red, The spice of musk and lavender Along its winding alleys shed.
Outside are shadeless, troubled streets And souls that quest for gold and gain, Lips that have long forgot to smile And hearts that burn and ache with pain.
But here is all the sweet of dreams, The grace of prayer, the boon of rest, The spirit of old songs and loves Dwells in this garden blossom-blest.
Here would I linger for a space, And walk herein with memory; The world will pass me as it may And hope will minister to me.

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