  Beauty lies so deep On all the fields, Nothing for the eyes But blessing yields. Tall elms, greedy of light, Stand tip-toe. See The last light linger in Their tracery. The guns are dumb, are still All evil noises. The singing heart in peace Softly rejoices, Only unsatisfied With Beauty’s hunger And sacramental thirst— Nothing of anger. Mist wraiths haunt the path As daylight lessens, The stars grow clearer, and My dead friend’s presence. |
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