III—IN THE GARDEN
The grass is beneath my head;
And I gaze
At the thronging stars
In the aisles of night.
They fall ... they fall....
I am overwhelmed,
And afraid.
Each little leaf of the aspen
Is caressed by the wind,
And each is crying.
And the perfume
Of invisible roses
Deepens the anguish.
Let a strong mesh of roots
Feed the crimson of roses
Upon my heart;
And then fold over the hollow
Where all the pain was.