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A Forsaken Garden

Rating: 2.7
IN a coign of the cliff between lowland and highland,
At the sea-down's edge between windward and lee,
Walled round with rocks as an inland island,
The ghost of a garden fronts the sea.
A girdle of brushwood and thorn encloses
The steep square slope of the blossomless bed
Where the weeds that grew green from the graves of its roses
Now lie dead.

The fields fall southward, abrupt and broken,
To the low last edge of the long lone land.
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COMMENTS
iain Robb 15 March 2014
The whole poem is incredible. Like Wordsworth, Swinburne lost his genius badly with older age, but this 'still ahead of its time' piece of gorgeously formalised deathwish remains one of my favourite and most often self-quoted poems.
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Jon Alan 26 September 2006
the first and last stanzas are chillingly incredible
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