352 XXI

352

I hear of two far hence

In a garden met,

And the fragrance blown from thence

Fades not yet.

The one is seven years old,

And my friend is he:

But the years of the other have told

Eighty-three.

To hear these twain converse

Or to see them greet

Were sweeter than softest verse

May be sweet.

The hoar old gardener there

With an eye more mild

Perchance than his mild white hair

Meets the child.

I had rather hear the words

That the twain exchange

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