Decima
Silent daisies out of reach,
Maidens of the starry grass,
Gazing on me as I pass
With a look too wise for speech,
Teach me resignation,—teach
Patience to the barren clod,
As, above your happier sod,
Bending to the wind’s caress,
You—unplucked, alas!—no less
Sweetly manifest the god.
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