Friend, in the storm and stress of things,
1
Art thou aweary, even as I?
Wouldst flee the noisy fall of kings?
From all the wrath and rabble fly?
A shelter is forever nigh,
5
Tranquil with dews and green to see,
A place of songs that cannot die—
The garden with the golden key.
Here leap the Heliconian springs,
9
The sacred fountains never dry;
Apollo, with his golden strings,
Over the grass goes wandering by;
And wild-rose breast and marble thigh—
13
Goddess, or nymph immortal, she—
Haunt, fleeing the ensorcelled eye,
The garden with the golden key.
Needs but one charmèd line that sings,
17
Thou canst the roaring loom defy;
For wide the magic portal swings,
And Homer takes thee to his sky,
And laughing Shakespeare bids thee lie
21
Adream beneath his greenwood tree,
Far from the hurrying hue and cry—
The garden with the golden key.
Prince, dost thou seek to dulcify
25
Thy bitter lot? Wouldst sanctuary
And surcease find? I make reply,
"The garden with the golden key."