Who knows the things they dream, alas! <br />Or feel, who lie beneath the ground? <br />Perhaps the flowers, the leaves, and grass <br />That close them round. <br /> <br />In spring the violets may spell <br />The moods of them we know not of; <br />Or lilies sweetly syllable <br />Their thoughts of love. <br /> <br />Haply, in summer, dew and scent <br />Of all they feel may be a part; <br />Each red rose be the testament <br />Of some rich heart. <br /> <br />The winds of fall be utterance, <br />Perhaps, of saddest things they say; <br />Wild leaves may word some dead romance <br />In some dim way. <br /> <br />In winter all their sleep profound <br />Through frost may speak to grass and stream; <br />The snow may be the silent sound <br />Of all they dream.<br /><br />Madison Julius Cawein<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/communicants/
