Zest Poem by Rose Hawthorne Lathrop
Zest
Labor not in the murky dell,
But till your harvest hill at morn;
Stoop to no words that, rank and fell,
Grow faster than the rustling corn.
With gladdening eyes go greet the sun,
Who lifts his brow in varied light;
Bring light where'er your feet may run:
So bring a day to sorrow's night.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
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4/18/2024 12:53:39 PM # 1.0.0.1119
