Within its gates I heard the soundOf winds in cypress caverns caughtOf huddling tress that moaned, and soughtTo whisper what their roots had found.(__ Dream of Fear_)
I never see that prettiest thing-A cherry bough gone white with Spring-But what I think, "How gay 'twould beTo hang me from a flowering tree.
Not So Deep As A Well: Collected Poems
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I never see that prettiest thing-A cherry bough gone white with Spring-But what I think, "How gay 'twould beTo hang me from a flowering tree.
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