On the Cliffs
ON THE CLIFFS
Flung over the rim of the earth’s blue,
In far distant cliff-lands,
Cling wild flowers of occult hue
Never plucked by human hands -
Each perfumed in bouquets exotic
Which pervade the breeze
With mystery hypnotic -
Each understood only by the bees.
Pick these blooms if you will
But if you touch even one
Their hues and perfumes will spill :
Their magic mystery will be gone.
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