She learned her hands in a fairy-tale, And her mouth on a valentine.

She is happy where she lies With the dust upon her eyes.

The young are so old, they are born with their fingers crossed.

Ah, I could lay me down in this long grass And close my eyes, and let the quiet wind Blow over me

I, being born a woman and distressed By all the needs and notions of my kind.

When you are corn and roses and at rest I shall endure, a dense and sanguine ghost To haunt the scene where I was happiest To bend above the thing I loved the most

Let us not forget such words, and all they mean, as hatred, bitterness, and rancor greed, intolerance, bigotry; let us renew our faith and pledge to man, his right to be himself and free.