A red berry grows
in the south country --
The boughs are full of them
when spring arrives.
Gather some, I pray,
and fill your pockets --
These are the best
forget-me-knots!
by Sara Teasdale
This is the quiet hour; the theaters
Have gathered in their crowds, and steadily
The million lights blaze on for few to see,
Robbing the sky of stars that should be hers.