“The house is bleak and cold

   Built so new for me!

All the winds upon the wold

   Search it through for me;

No screening trees abound,

And the curious eyes around

   Keep on view for me.”

“My Love, I am planting trees

   As a screen for you

Both from winds, and eyes that tease

   And peer in for you.

Only wait till they have grown,

No such bower will be known

   As I mean for you.”

“Then I will bear it, Love,

   And will wait,” she said.

—So, with years, there grew a grove.

   “Skill how great!” she said.

“As you wished, Dear?”—“Yes, I see!

But—I’m dying; and for me

   ’Tis too late,” she said.