Читать книгу Prison Poetry - Hiram Peck McKnight - Страница 6

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In this mind's garden thoughts shall grow,

And in their freshness bud and blow;

Thoughts to which love has beauty lent

And memories sweet of sentiment.

Now, if I cultivate them right good,

They'll furnish me with my mind's food.

My enemies may my corpus hail,

While onward, upward, thoughts will sail

To realms above, where all is peace,

And where the soul may rest with ease.