  I will write letters to my friend the grass, I will sing all my songs to lilac flowers Gather the spices in the airs that pass, And wrap my heart close shrouded in the hours. I dread man's huge impertinence; he creeps Thro' the inviolate silences of Spring Like a marauder, waking that which sleeps To gather strength for lyric blossoming. I will write all my letters to the grass. The world shall be resolved into a cry Faint as a little voice that cries Alas! And I will laugh alone beneath the sky. "And wrap my heart close shrouded in the hours" |
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