Man And His Makers - Poem by Muriel Stuart
I am one of the wind's stories,
I am a fancy of the rain,-
A memory of the high noon's glories,
The hint the sunset had of pain.
They dreamed me as they dreamed all other;
Hawthorn and I, I and the grass,
With sister shade and phantom brother
Across their slumber glide and pass.
Twilight is in my blood, my being
Mingles with trees and ferns and stones;
Thunder and stars my lips are freeing,
And there is sea-rack in my bones.
Those that have dreamed me shall out-wake me,
But I go hence with flowers and weeds;
I am no more to those who make me
Than other drifting fruit and seeds.
And though I love them -mourn to leave them-
Sea, earth and sunset, stars and streams,
My tears, my passing do not grieve them . . .
Other dreams have they, other dreams.
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Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
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Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You