Decima

Silent daisies out of reach,

Maidens of the starry grass,

Gazing on me as I pass

With a look too wise for speech,

Teach me resignation,—teach

Patience to the barren clod,

As, above your happier sod,

Bending to the wind's caress,

You—unplucked, alas!—no less

Sweetly manifest the god.