The Garden

I insisted that he ought to appear in the temple I built for him
Not knowing that he cares only for temples building
And not at all for temples built
[C.S. Lewis, Surprised by Joy]

There's faery in this garden
I cannot bear to hear him sing

Thee sculptors all pursuing
Have embodied but their own
Round their visions, form enduring
Marble vestments thou hast thrown
[Phantastes, by George MacDonald]

There's faery in my garden
I cannot bear to hear him sing

But thyself, in silence winding
Thou hast kept eternally
Thee they found not, many finding
I have found thee, wake for me
[Phantastes, by George MacDonald]

Hear my voice come through the golden
Mist of memory and hope
And with shadowy smile embolden
Me with primal death to cope
[Phantastes, by George MacDonald]