In my rose garden warmly kissed by dawn,
There grew white arum lilies shining too,
Pranked with iris, softly clad in blue.
Radiant roses glowed scarlet like the morn,
I strolled amongst the fountains; in my view
Such Lady Beauty spoke as Being True.
True in the sense that Art is Beauty born,
To waken souls of men to God divine;
That garden was the threshold to that place,
Well enriched by brilliant bright sunshine.
I felt the gentle hand of blessed grace,
That rose garden was truly Highest Art,
A joy that moved me to the depths of heart.
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