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C.N. Douglas, comp.  Forty Thousand Quotations: Prose and Poetical.  1917.
  God the first garden made, and the first city, Cain.
        And add to these retired Leisure,
That in trim gardens takes his pleasure.
                            The garden lies,
A league of grass, wash’d by a slow broad stream.
        My garden is a forest ledge
  Which older forests bound;
The banks slope down to the blue lake-edge,
  Then plunge to depths profound!
        A little garden square and wall’d;
And in it throve an ancient evergreen,
A yew-tree, and all round it ran a walk
Of shingle, and a walk divided it.
        His gardens next your admiration call,
On every side you look, behold the wall!
No pleasing intricacies intervene,
No artful wildness to perplex the scene;
Grove nods at grove, each alley has a brother,
And half the platform just reflects the other.
The suffering eye inverted nature sees,
Trees cut to statues, statues thick as trees;
With here a fountain, never to be play’d,
And there a summer-house that knows no shade.
  A garden, sir, wherein all rainbowed flowers were heaped together.
Charles Kingsley.    
                        The splash and stir
Of fountains spouted up and showering down
In meshes of the jasmine and the rose:
And all about us peal’d the nightingale,
Rapt in her song, and careless of the snare.
        An album is a garden, not for show
Planted, but use; where wholesome herbs should grow.
Charles Lamb.    
  Who loves a garden loves a greenhouse, too.

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