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1876–1944

XL

Helen Hay Whitney

Do you respect the heavy-lidded flowers That nod so drowsily upon their bed? Can you endure the slow-stepped, dreamy hours That fall, indifferent, to gold and red?

Have you the key that opens to green arches Where trees repeat their prayers in monotone? Then take my hand down life's mysterious marches, And let us walk in silence and alone.

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