The Young Gardener

He's a rogue, a daring youth,

  And, with his sickle keen,

He reaps with vigour ne'er uncouth,

  The weeds that grow between. 

And as a Minstrel to his words

  Or a Seer of eld to stars

As a Knight is to his swords

  Or a legion to their arms

He slips in slumber never-ending,

  And with a hand beneath his cheek,

He hears the waters all descending 

  Down the effervescent creek.

Thus amid the morphine rout

  A dream of dreams unfurls, 

A wave that seeps like honeyed drought

  From meadows strewn with pearls.