When I allow myself to dream awake, If I allow myself to dream at all I dream of flowers and the joy they take At light in morning, rest at evening's fall.
I see their blissful countenance and hue And often in the early day or late A fragrance sense, known only to the few Who open as the flowers, dedicate
To the sun of their thought, their soul's desire, The bud that lies within awaiting bloom, A many-petalled chalice reaching higher Ever higher in that hidden room
Where all prepares the ages to disclose The perfect and inviolable rose.
Poems Undated (1727)
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