SO much of beauty runs to waste Where careless eyes can see. And is there never any one To share a joy with me? The warm brown wheat waits in the dusk For winds to turn the mill, And little stars slip out at night To dream above the hill. Sometimes an orange chariot Comes up and stops awhile So close to earth that I can catch The lady moon's faint smile. A dark bird sings a melody That breaks the heart to bear— But who is there in all the world To hear and know and care? |