Shut Out

The door was shut. I looked betweenIts iron bars; and saw it lie,My garden, mine, beneath the sky,Pied with all flowers bedewed and green:

From bough to bough the song-birds crossed,From flower to flower the moths and bees;With all its nests and stately treesIt had been mine, and it was lost.

A shadowless spirit kept the gate,Blank and unchanging like the grave.I peering through said: "Let me haveSome buds to cheer my outcast state."

He answered not. "Or give me, then,But one small twig from shrub or tree;And bid my home remember meUntil I come to it again."

The spirit was silent; but he tookMortar and stone to build a wall;He left no loophole great or smallThrough which my straining eyes might look:

So now I sit here quite aloneBlinded with tears; nor grieve for that,For nought is left worth looking atSince my delightful land is gone.

A violet bed is budding near,Wherein a lark has made her nest:And good they are, but not the best;And dear they are, but not so dear.