Not in Kings' gardens. No; but where there haunt
The world's forgotten, both of men and birds;
The alleys of no hope and of no words,
The hidings where men reap not, though they plant;
But toil and thirst -- so dying and so born; --
And toil and thirst to gather to their want,
From the lean waste, beyond the daylight's scorn,
-- To gather grapes of thorn!

. . . . .

And for those two, your pilgrims without tears,
Who prayed a largess where there was no dearth,
Forgive it to their human-happy ears:
Forgive it them, brown music of the Earth,
Unknowing, -- though the wiser silence knew!
Forgive it to the music of the spheres
That while they walked together so, the Two
Together, -- heard not you.




Only of thee and me. [Louis Untermeyer]



Only of thee and me the night wind sings,
Only of us the sailors speak at sea,
The earth is filled with wondered whisperings