“Mark our ways—how noiseless
All, and sweetly voiceless,
Though the March winds pipe to make our passage clear;
Not a whisper tells
Where our small seed dwells,
Nor is known the moment green, when our tips appear.
We tread the earth in silence,
In silence build our bowers,
And leaf by leaf in silence show, ’till we laugh atop, sweet Flowers!
…