Into the garden of sorrow, Some day we all must roam, If not to-day, then to-morrow, Bow 'neath its purple dome, Out from the musk-laden banqueting halls, Doffing our mirth-spangled vestments like thralls, Softly we wend to Gethsemane, In the hour that sorrow calls! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...RESPECTABILITY by ROBERT BROWNING HIS GRANGE, OR PRIVATE WEALTH by ROBERT HERRICK THE MODERN MOTHER by ALICE MEYNELL ODE IN MEMORY OF THE AMERICAN VOLUNTEERS FALLEN FOR FRANCE by ALAN SEEGER EMBLEMS OF LOVE: 41. LOVE REQUIRES NO ENTREATIES by PHILIP AYRES |