Myself

Topics: classic

There is a garden, grey With mists of autumntide; Under the giant boughs, Stretched green on every side, Along the lonely paths, A little child like me, With face, with hands, like mine, Plays ever silently; On, on, quite silently, When I am there alone, Turns not his head; lifts not his eyes; Heeds not as he plays on. After the birds are flown From singing in the trees, When all is grey, all silent, Voices, and winds, and bees; And I am there alone: Forlornly, silently, Plays in the evening garden Myself with me.

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"There is a garden, grey..."

This evocative piece by Walter De La Mare, titled "Myself", represents a masterful exploration of classic. The lines capture a profound emotional resonance... ### Why We Love This Line At Linespedia, we believe that poetry is the ultimate sanctuary for the soul...

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