  What do you hide, O grasses! say, Among your tangles green and high? "Warm-hearted violets for May, And rocking daisies for July." What burden do you keep beneath Your knotted green, that none may see? "The prophecy of life and death, A hint, a touch, a mystery." What hope and passion should I find If I should pierce your meshes through? "A clover blossoming in the wind, A wandering harebell budded blue." Dora Read Goodale. |
|
