I've a garden, a garden of dreams,
Where the cool breeze whispering sways
Softly the apple-sprays,
And from leaves that shimmer and quiver
Down on mine eyelids streams
A slumber-river.
by Alan SeegerThough thou art now a ruin bare and cold,
Thou wert sometime the garden of a king.
The birds have sought a lovelier place to sing.
The flowers are few. It was not so of old.