There's something quieter than sleep Within this inner room! It wears a sprig upon its breast — And will not tell its name. Some touch it, and some kiss it — Some chafe its idle hand — It has a simple gravity I do not understand! I would not weep if I were they — How rude in one to sob! Might scare the quiet fairy Back to her native wood! While simple-hearted neighbors Chat of the "Early dead" — We — prone to periphrasis Remark that Birds have fled!
© Typotex – Russicon – Hesz