Grasses
Boundless grasses over the plain
Come and go with every season;
Wildfire never quite consumes them—
They are tall once more in the spring wind.
Sweet they press on the old high-road
And reach the crumbling city-gate. . . .
O Prince of Friends, you are gone again. . . .
I hear them sighing after you.
Come and go with every season;
Wildfire never quite consumes them—
They are tall once more in the spring wind.
Sweet they press on the old high-road
And reach the crumbling city-gate. . . .
O Prince of Friends, you are gone again. . . .
I hear them sighing after you.
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