About The Sheltered Garden Ground

ABOUT the sheltered garden ground
The trees stand strangely still.
The vale ne'er seemed so deep before,
Nor yet so high the hill.

An awful sense of quietness,
A fulness of repose,
Breathes from the dewy garden-lawns,
The silent garden rows.

As the hoof-beats of a troop of horse
Heard far across a plain,
A nearer knowledge of great thoughts
Thrills vaguely through my brain.

I lean my head upon my arm,
My heart's too full to think;
Like the roar of seas, upon my heart
Doth the morning stillness sink.

by Robert Louis Stevenson

Comments (2)

Stevenson could weave a spell in his writing be it prose or poetry- there is a sense that his childhood did not fulfill his needs so he revisits it often, realigning it in his tales
An awful sense of quietness A fullness of repose Breaths from the dewy garden lawns.