Page:Collected poems vol 1 de la mare.djvu/233

 OR all the grief I have given with words
 * May now a few clear flowers blow,

In the dust, and the heat, and the silence of birds,
 * Where the lonely go.

For the thing unsaid that heart asked of me
 * Be a dark, cool water calling — calling

To the footsore, benighted, solitary,
 * When the shadows are falling.

O, be beauty for all my blindness,
 * A moon in the air where the weary wend,

And dews burdened with loving-kindness
 * In the dark of the end.