Skip to main content
This is a place of ease:
Beauty has come to rest,
Color is gentle in the trees,
The willow leaves look
Timidly down, more timidly back from the brook.

Beauty has come to rest:
Sweet as a sleepy-bell
The breeze swings within the close-pressed
Shadows, and the sun
Falls in little sprays, to be picked by anyone!
Rate this poem
No votes yet