There A Tattered Marigold And Dead Asters Manifold, Showed Him Where The Garden Old Of Time Bloomed: Briar And Thistle Overgrew Corners Where The Rose Once Blew, Where The Phlox Of Every Hue Lay Entombed. Here A Coreopsis Flower Pushed Its Disc Above A Bower, Where Once Poured A Starry Shower, Bronze And Gold: And A Twisted Hollyhock, And The Remnant Of A Stock, Struggled Up, 'Mid Burr And Dock, Through The Mold. Flower-Pots, With Mossy Cloak, Strewed A Place Beneath An Oak, Where The Garden-Bench Lay Broke By The Tree: And He Thought Of Her, Who Here Sat With Him But Yesteryear; Her, Whose Presence Now Seemed Near Stealthily. And The Garden Seemed To Look For Her Coming. Petals Shook On The Spot Where, With Her Book, Oft She Sat. Suddenly There Blew A Wind: And Across The Garden Blind, Like A Black Thought In A Mind, Stole A Cat. Lean As Hunger; Like The Shade Of A Dream; A Ghost Unlaid; Through The Weeds Its Way It Made, Gaunt And Old: Once 'T Was Hers. He Looked To See If She Followed To The Tree. Then Recalled How Long Since She Had Been Mold.