Robert Service

I know the garden where the lilies gleam,
   And one who lingers in the sunshine there;
   She is than white-stoled lily far more fair,
And, oh, her eyes are heaven-lit with dream!

I know the 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 an ocean wide;
   Yet he is in the garden by her side
And she is in garret there with him.