XL

By 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.