With what perfection may the garden grow,
A nursling of the honey-scented lime,
Some corner tells, where trumpet bindweed climb,
The everlasting conflicts ebb and flow.
Nor when the sun imparts its silent glow
And dies upon a perfect mirror sea
Is peace beheld: beneath the calm must be
The pulsing tide's essential undertow.

Eternal mountains, castles in the air,
Hang in the heavens mantled by the clouds,
Yet surely dance in river valleys fair
Transplanted by the kisses of their shrouds.

As is this restlessness in nature's art
So is the restlessness within my heart.

JMT 1944