White with daisies and red with sorrel <br />And empty, empty under the sky!— <br />Life is a quest and love a quarrel— <br />Here is a place for me to lie. <br /> <br />Daisies spring from damned seeds, <br />And this red fire that here I see <br />Is a worthless crop of crimson weeds, <br />Cursed by farmers thriftily. <br /> <br />But here, unhated for an hour, <br />The sorrel runs in ragged flame, <br />The daisy stands, a bastard flower, <br />Like flowers that bear an honest name. <br /> <br />And here a while, where no wind brings <br />The baying of a pack athirst, <br />May sleep the sleep of blessed things, <br />The blood too bright, the brow accurst.<br /><br />Edna St. Vincent Millay<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/weeds/
