The cedar seeks escape from the blue shade Her own expanded loveliness has made. The rose digs farther for a firmer hold Beneath her store of scented blossom mould. The runnel strives to cut a deeper bed During her silver flight, and leaps ahead To merge with widened waters, still and cool. But the white lily gleaming on the pool Lies in exalted idleness. To be Is better than the mad activity Of flurried runnels. Let the rose dig down, And let the towering cedar lift her crown. The water lily waits through sun and mist, And, fading, dies a regal fatalist. |