A Room on a Garden

O stagnant east-wind, palsied mare

Giddap! The ruby roses' hair

Must blow



Behold how order is the end

Of everything. The roses bend

As one



Order, the law of hoes and rakes

May be perceived in windy quakes

And squalls



The gardener searches earth and sky

The truth in nature to espy

In vain



He well might find that eager balm

In lilies' stately-statued calm;

But then



He well might find it in this fret

Of lilies rusted, rotting, wet

With Rain