by Robert Service
I know a garden where the lilies gleam,
And one who lingers in the sunshine there;
She is than white-clothed 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 a country wide;
Yet he is in the garden by her side
And she is in garret there with him.