Adonaic

There is a garden dangerous to find
In which the flowers grow so gracefully
That men despite all dangers constantly
Troop in vast regiments of every kind
That our Creator by his will designed
To merely catch a scent, or barely see
A tendril or a petal visibly
Snake towards the sun, heliotrope though blind.
And so the way unto this garden's strewn
With bones of men unequal to the task;
For although through the woods there may be hewn
A path, its very presence serves to mask
The danger on it: I, by contrast, flew
Into the garden winged by Love for you.