Читать книгу The Garden of Dreams - Cawein Madison Julius - Страница 22

Ten-hundred deep the drifted daisies break

Here at the hill's foot; on its top, the wheat

Hangs meagre-bearded; and, in vague retreat,

The wisp-like blooms of the moth-mulleins shake.

And where the wild-pink drops a crimson flake,

And morning-glories, like young lips, make sweet

The shaded hush, low in the honeyed heat,

The wild-bees hum; as if afraid to wake

One sleeping there; with no white stone to tell

The story of existence; but the stem

Of one wild-rose, towering o'er brier and weed,

Where all the day the wild-birds requiem;

Within whose shade the timid violets spell

An epitaph, only the stars can read.