ABOUT the sheltered garden ground
The trees stand strangely still.
The vale ne'er seemed so deep before,
Nor yet so high the hill.
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An awful sense of quietness A fullness of repose Breaths from the dewy garden lawns.
Stevenson could weave a spell in his writing be it prose or poetry- there is a sense that his childhood did not fulfill his needs so he revisits it often, realigning it in his tales