I CLOSE my eyes and see them still, The little sheep, as up the hill They trail with careful step and find Their way. So still, so still, they wind Round rocks of gray, soft-tinged with rose, Along the path where thickly grows The nut-sweet Everlasting-Flower. In visionings of sunset hour, I close my eyes; I hear lone bells; I breathe the pine, the immortelles! And peace drifts to me from the hill Where little sheep are winding still. |