5/5 Rizwan A. 10 months ago on Google
I
know
a
green
grass
path
that
leaves
the
field
And,
like
a
running
river,
winds
along
Into
a
leafy
wood,
where
is
no
throng
Of
birds
at
noon-day;
and
no
soft
throats
yield
Their
music
to
the
moon.
The
place
is
sealed,
An
unclaimed
sovereignty
of
voiceless
song,
And
all
the
unravished
silences
belong
To
some
sweet
singer
lost,
or
unrevealed.
So
is
my
soul
become
a
silent
placeβ¦.
Oh,
may
I
wake
from
this
uneasy
night
To
find
some
voice
of
music
manifold.
Let
it
be
shape
of
sorrow
with
wan
face
Or
love
that
swoons
on
sleep,
or
else
delight
That
is
as
wide-eyed
as
a
marigold.