It Is Here--The Lime-Tree In The Garden Path, The Lilac By The Wall, The Ivied Wall That Was So High, The Heavy, Close-Leaved Creeper, The Harsh Gate Jarring On Its Hinges Still, The Echoing Clean Flags--All The Same, The Same, And Never More The Same. That Mound Was Once A Hill, The Old Lime-Tree A Forest (Now As Small As The Poor Lilac By The Ivied Wall), And This Neglected Narrow Greenery A Wilderness, And I Its King And Keeper; Lying Upon The Grass I Saw The Sky And All Its Clouds: The Garden Edged The Sky. The Harsh Gate Jars Upon Its Hinges Still.