He worked in Beauty's garden, till he knew Its craft and skill and imagery divine; And wondrous shapes of bending mystic line Instinct and love and chivalry he drew; And, wresting Nature's secrets - known to a few - Out of her heart, would, with some deft design, Her choicest parts into one whole combine All beautiful in soul, and form and hue. Ah! not in idle dream and soft repose, Or steeped in visions of a world unreal (Like hermits who deep holy thoughts conceal), Labour Art's noblest; but, with love that glows, The mysteries their keen-eyed soul can scan, Their hand interprets for their fellow man. A. J. C.