There is no one left to speak to there;
Here they are everywhere,
And just above them fields and fields of roses lie—
If he would dig it all up again they would not die.
THE PEDLAR
Lend me, a little while, the key
That locks your heavy heart, and I’ll give you back—
Rarer than books and ribbons and beads bright to see,
This little Key of Dreams out of my pack.
The road, the road, beyond men’s bolted doors,