Page:Twilight Hours (1868).djvu/289

From Wikisource
Jump to navigation Jump to search
This page needs to be proofread.
FLOWERS IN THE EAST WIND.
245


How can you tell what grace
With a young thing dies ?
What the world may lose while the doctors choose
Which way the danger lies ?

Slowly, with heavy feet,
Do the great ones go ;
While they try the right, and obey dull might,
Doing not what they know.

Pitiful, human, sweet,
Oh little children's eyes !
With the marks of weeping, and lack of sleeping —
Woe for us when ye rise.