Our bright garden is health itself.
It is squandered in its brightness from the
thousand hands of the branches and leaves as they
wave to and fro.
And the pleasant shade that welcomes our feet
after the long roads pours into our tired limbs
a quickening strength, gentle as the garden's
mosses.
When the pond plays with the wind and the sun, a
ruddy heart seems to dwell in the depths of the
water, and to beat, ardent and young, with the
ripples; and the tall, straight gladioli and the
glowing roses that move in their splendour hold
out their golden goblets of red blood at the end
of their living stalks.
Our bright garden is health itself.