My garden blossoms pink and white
A place of decorous murmuring
Where I am safe from August night
And cannot feel the knife of Spring

And I may walk the pretty place
Before the curtsying hollyhocks
And laundered daisies, round of face
Good little girls, in party frocks

My trees are amiably arrayed
In pattern on the dappled sky
And I may sit in filtered shade
And watch the tidy years go by

And I may amble pleasantly
And hear my neighbors list their bones
And click my tongue in sympathy
And count the cracks in paving-stones

My door is grave in oaken strength
The cool of linen calms my bed
And there at night I stretch my length
And envy no one but the dead