Grant me but these: A purple peace where I may lie Beneath no handkerchief-sized sky And artificial winds that slither by -- Unhurried in the sun until I die. Give me the sweet familiar pain Of blurring lilacs in the rain; Of stars and silences that know The eloquence of sifting snow. From these cool tombs of Life Oh, let me be -- Untainted by a smug hypocrisy. |