The Hillside Grave
Ten-hundred deep the drifted daisies break Here at the hill's foot; on its top, the wheat Hangs meagre-bearded; and, in vague retreat, The wisp-like blooms of the moth-mulleins shake. And where the wild-pink drops a crimson flake, And morning-glories, like young lips, make sweet The shaded hush, low in the honeyed heat, The wild-bees hum; as if afraid to wake One sleeping there; with no white stone to tell The story of existence; but the stem Of one wild-rose, towering o'er brier and weed, Where all the day the wild-birds requiem; Within whose shade the timid violets spell An epitaph, only the stars can read.
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"Ten-hundred deep the drifted daisies break..."
This evocative piece by Madison Julius Cawein, titled "The Hillside Grave", represents a masterful exploration of classic. The lines capture a profound emotional resonance... ### Why We Love This Line At Linespedia, we believe that poetry is the ultimate sanctuary for the soul...