ALONG the garden ways just now I heard the flowers speak; The white rose told me of your brow, The red rose of your cheek; The lily of your bended head, The bindweed of your hair: Each looked its loveliest and said You were more fair. I went into the wood anon, And heard the wild birds sing How sweet you were; they warbled on, Piped, trilled the self-same thing. Thrush, blackbird, linnet, without pause, The burden did repeat, And still began again because You were more sweet. And then I went down to the sea, And heard it murmuring too, Part of an ancient mystery, All made of me and you. How many a thousand years ago I loved, and you were sweet-- Longer I could not stay, and so I fled back to your feet.