I know a garden where the lilies gleam,

And one who lingers in the sunshine there;

She is than white-stoled lily far more fair,

And oh, her eyes are heaven-lit with dream!

I know a garret, cold and dark and drear,

And one who toils and toils with tireless pen,

Until his brave, sad eyes grow weary—then

He seeks the stars, pale, silent as a seer.

And ah, it’s strange; for, desolate and dim,

Between these two there rolls an ocean wide;

Yet he is in the garden by her side

And she is in the garret there with him.