Sometimes, when the grind of the city beats on my heart Like a brazen hammer with terrible blows, I think of a lost garden I knew in my boyhood, Filled with the scent of the rose. And sometimes, when the clamor of life seems endless, And my soul is bowed with its weight of pain, I think of an old, still apple tree in blossom At the end of a hawthorn lane. Oh, do not smile at such simple memories! They keep us young, they keep the man-heart right. And sometime we will all go back contented, To a Garden and a Tree in a place of light. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...RELIEVING GUARD by FRANCIS BRET HARTE LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM by THOMAS MOORE THE HAYLOFT by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON TO GEORGE CRUIKSHANK, ESQ., ON SEEING HIS PICTURE ... by MATTHEW ARNOLD EVENING TRAINS by MARY TRUE AYER CHORUS OF A SONG THAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN WRITTEN BY ALBERT CHEVALIER by HENRY MAXIMILIAN BEERBOHM |