Yours is a garden of old-fashioned flowers; Joyous children delight to play there; Weary men find rest in its bowers, Watching the lingering light of day there.
Old-time tunes and young love-laughter Ripple and run among the roses; Memory’s echoes, murmuring after, Fill the dusk when the long day closes.
Simple songs with a cadence olden— These you learned in the Forest of Arden: Friendly flowers with hearts all golden— These you borrowed from Eden’s garden.
This is the reason why all men love you; Truth to life is the finest art: Other poets may soar above you— You keep close to the human heart.