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A Garden That One Makes Oneself Becomes Associated With One’s Personal History And That Of One’s Friends, Interwoven With One’s Tastes, Preferences And Character And Constitutes A Sort Of Unwritten Autobiography.

Pale January Lay In Its Cradle Day By Day Dead Or Living, Hard To Say.

Is Life Worth Living? Yes, So Long As Spring Revives The Year, And Hails Us With The Cuckoo's Song, To Show That She Is Here.

Faded Smiles Oft Linger In The Face, While Grief's First Flakes Fall Silent On The Heart!

Doth Nature Draw Me, 'tis Because, Unto My Seeming, There Doth Lurk A Lawlessness About Her Laws, More Mood Than Purpose In Her Work.