The Hours of Afternoon, XXI: Our bright garden is health itself

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.