793. My Garden

A GARDEN is a lovesome thing, God wot!

Rose plot,

Fringed pool,

Fern'd grot—

The veriest school

Of peace; and yet the fool

Contends that God is not—

Not God! In gardens! When the eve is cool?

Nay, but I have a sign;

'Tis very sure God walks in mine.

Today, yesterday when the jasmine and the roses were washed with summer rain and Buddy killed a pigeon, scattering downy white breast feathers and iridescent flight feathers over the daisy studded grass. I was quite sure.