Sunday, August 14, 2011

25. Little Acorn

Buried in the heart of earthly pleasures:
not a whisper of your soul resounds.
Can I flee in vain forever, thusly?
Rounds of acrid laughter futile peels;
artificial saccharines grow weaker:
Great, immortal seed of sylvan love -
Germinate, and overrule the heavens!
Empty follies cannot bar your path.

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One Art, to recognize, must be,
Another Art to Praise.

- Emily Dickinson