The White Blossom

It was in a still place of graves.

I asked the wind, whose faint dream-waves

Followed the mounds along, "What meaning has

This flowret gladding all the grass,

This loved-one of the light,

Rooted in death-dark and long night?"

And the wind said: "Two things men lay

In death's unending night away,—

Their joys and sorrows. Sorrows I let sleep,

But the dear joys no grave may keep;

I lure them back. They know

My breath, they lean the way I blow."