Richard Johnson Painting
Lover's Gifts II: Come to My Garden Walk Come to my garden walk, my love. Pass by the fervid flowers that press themselves on your sight. Pass them by, stopping at some chance joy, which like a sudden wonder of sunset illumines, yet elude.
Rabindranath Tagore
For lover's gift is shy, it never tells its name, it flits across the shade, spreading a shiver of joy along the dust.
Overtake it or miss it for ever. But a gift that can be grasped is merely a frail flower, or a lamp with flame that will flicker.
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