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.

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