Page:Stars of the Desert.djvu/57

 Even the croaking of the frogs is music, Even the creak of the wheel is song, Straight to my naked heart the wild birds' warble Strikes in cadence, tremulously strong.

Now the old gardener passes discreetly, Never upraising his guarded eyes, For here in the violets, at rest, beside me, Sweet and consenting, my Loved One lies! 45