Quiet
COME not the earliest petal here, but only
Wind, cloud, and star,
Lovely and far,
Make it less lonely.
Few are the feet that seek her here, but sleeping
Thoughts sweet as flowers
Linger for hours,
Things winged, yet weeping.
Here in the immortal empire of the grasses,
Time, like one wrong
Note in a song,
With their bloom, passes.
poem by Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
Added by Poetry Lover
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