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THE GARDEN
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That garden where a dying queen
Might listen all night to a ghost's foot-fall,
If you had seen that old parterre
Of roses red with forbidden passion
You would know too well why I wander there,
Too well why my dreams are out of fashion!
Oh, their classic skies are blue and white.
But grey upon grey is best;
And to follow the rain is my delight
And the wild swans in their long, long flight
Into the night — into the night —
To that garden of the West.
