If You Wish To Preserve Your Secret,

My Garden, With Its Silence And Pulses Of Fragrance That Come And Go On The Airy Undulations, Affects Me Like Sweet Music. Care Stops At The Gates, And Gazes At Me Wistfully Through The Bars.

A Tender Sadness Drops Upon My Soul, Like The Soft Twilight Dropping On The World.

I Go Into My Library, And All History Unrolls Before Me. I Breathe The Morning Air Of The World While The Scent Of Eden's Roses Yet Lingered In It, While It Vibrated Only To The World's First Brood Of Nightingales, And To The Laugh Of Eve. I See The Pyramids Building; I Hear The Shoutings Of The Armies Of Alexander.

There Is Nothing Good In This World Which Time Does Not Improve.

In My Garden I Spend My Days; In My Library I Spend My Nights.