The feet of the humblest may walk in the field Where the feet of the Holiest trod, This, then, is the marvel to mortals revealed.
Phillips BrooksAbout author
- Author's profession: Clergyman
- Nationality: american
- Born: December 13, 1835
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Flowers, cold from the dew, And autumn's approaching breath, I pluck for the warm, luxuriant braids, Which haven't faded yet. In their nights, fragrantly resinous, Entwined with delightful mystery, They will breathe in her springlike. Extraordinary beauty. But in a whirlwind of sound and fire, From her shing head they will flutter. And falland before her. They will die, faintly fragrant still. And, impelled by faithful longing, My obedient gaze will feast upon them. With a reverent hand, Love...
Anna Akhmatova