  The grass is beneath my head; and I gaze at the thronging stars in the night. They fall ... they fall.... I am overwhelmed, and afraid. Each leaf of the aspen is caressed by the wind, and each is crying. And the perfume of invisible roses deepens the anguish. Let a strong mesh of roots feed the crimson of roses upon my heart; and then fold over the hollow where all the pain was. F. S. Flint
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