The Garden
H
Harriet Monroe
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Hiding under the hill,
Heavy with trailing robes and tangled veils of green,
Till only its little haggard face was visible,
The garden lay shy and wistful,
Lovelorn for summer departing,
Blowing its little trickling fountain tune into the air.
And over all, hushing, soothing,
Lay the clematis
Like early snow.
Kamu malı: şairin ölümünün üzerinden 70 yıldan fazla geçti.
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