GARDEN CLOSES by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON

EARTH buffets and harasses
Her children, day by day;
Pricked on by harsh endeavor,
Debarred of prayer and play,
Chasing a Shade for ever,
Man fares by perilous passes,
Till he be bent and gray.

But Life, -- how deep the kindness
That saves us from despair!
Hath eke her garden closes
Where all is calm and fair;
Some place of rest and roses
Where man puts off his blindness
Of canker and of care.

There music sounds, clear-hearted,
And star-eyed women smile,
There friends, estranged in seeming,
Forget their former guile;
Above, to help the dreaming,
The clouds are soft disparted
By warm, soft moons the while

Into this sacred haven
Of health and happy lure,
Come marred and haunted faces
To taste a pleasure pure;
In this most dear of places
What word or wish is craven
These walls may not immure.

So, frayed upon sharp edges
Of knives that cut full deep,
Our own lost souls pursuing,
We may thereafter creep
Away from sordid doing,
Behind these holy hedges
For solace and for sleep.

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