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Gardens and shrines shine by day,
Their flowers closing with the night;
And in melody the birds say
How their petals grasp the light:
Glowing swarms on golden wing
Build wreathes of prayer for thy head,
And the groves softly opening
Invite the star’s dreams to thy bed—

Yet some who walk there bless
With a drear, unholy loneliness
The blooms that slumber on
The paths that guide dawn
Whispering poison lullabies:
Strange hymns of lone goodbyes
To him guided by suffering,
For his hope too is slumbering;
Who left to his own device
Builds inferno of that paradise.