Roses can wound, But not from having thorns they do most harm; Often the night gives, starry-sheen or moon'd, Deep in the soul alarm. And it hath been deep within my heart like fear,...
All round the knoll, on days of quietest air, Secrets are being told; and if the trees Speak out - let them make uproar loud as drums - 'Tis secrets still, shouted instead of whisper'd....