In the dream garden of my heart
There is one bower set apart
For dreams of thee, and only thee –
In this dream garden there are bowers
Where grow wild weeds and lovely flowers;
Where shabbiness competes with grace
For pride of place.
But in one bower, Asthore machree! –
One; dedicated all to thee,
Nothing that’s not a flower fair
As thee, is there.
Our years of love are flowers sweet,
Our trials, triumph, and defeat;
Each deed, each dream of love’s a flower
To deck that bower.
The garden of my heart some day
Must turn to dust, its flowers decay:
But love lives on in heaven’s bowers –
Such love as ours.