Shut Out

The door was shut. I looked between         Its iron bars; and saw it lie,         My garden, mine, beneath the sky,     Pied with all flowers bedewed and green:     From bough to bough the song-birds crossed,         From flower to flower the moths and bees;         With all its nests and stately trees     It had been mine, and it was lost.     A shadowless spirit kept the gate,         Blank and unchanging like the grave.         I peering through said: 'Let me have     Some buds to cheer my outcast state.'     He answered not. 'Or give me, then,         But one small twig from shrub or tree;         And bid my home remember me     Until I come to it again.'     The spirit was silent; but he took         Mortar and stone to build a wall;         He left no loophole great or small     Through which my straining eyes might look:     So now I sit here quite alone         Blinded with tears; nor grieve for that,         For nought is left worth looking at     Since my delightful land is gone.     A violet bed is budding near,         Wherein a lark has made her nest:         And good they are, but not the best;     And dear they are, but not so dear.