Classic Poem

Sleep, Little Stem, with the mother-dream
That I shall shape for you.
The sun is soft on the silvery stream,
And the wind shall bring you a tune for the dream.
Dream of the bud that awakes in you.
Dream — and it shall be true!

The years have toiled and the seasons died
To make you a time to be,
And a tearful spirit has prophesied
Of you in the summer sea:
For you are a part of the great warm Vast
From the worm at your root to the Sun above you;
And it softly croons " At last, at last,
We shall breathe of your flower and love you! "