I Know A Garden Where The Lilies Gleam, And One Who Lingers In The Sunshine There; She Is Than White-Stoled Lily Far More Fair, And Oh, Her Eyes Are Heaven-Lit With Dream. I Know A Garret, Cold And Dark And Drear, And One Who Toils And Toils With Tireless Pen, Until His Brave, Sad Eyes Grow Weary - Then He Seeks The Stars, Pale, Silent As A Seer. And Ah, It's Strange, For Desolate And Dim Between These Two There Rolls An Ocean Wide; Yet He Is In The Garden By Her Side, And She Is In The Garret There With Him.