A Poem Round And Perfect

Death Is The Ugly Fact Which Nature Has To Hide, And She Hides It Well.

How Deeply Seated In The Human Heart Is The Liking For Gardens And Gardening.

In Life There Is Nothing More Unexpected And Surprising Than The Arrivals And Departures Of Pleasure. If We Find It In One Place Today, It Is Vain To Seek It There Tomorrow. You Can Not Lay A Trap For It.

In My Garden, Care Stops At The Gate And Gazes At Me Wistfully Through The Bars.

Style, After All, Rather Than Thought, Is The Immortal Thing In Literature.