To A Cyclamen
I come to visit thee agen, My little flowerless cyclamen; To touch the hand, almost to press, That cheerd thee in thy loneliness. What could thy careful guardian find Of thee in form, of me in mind, What is there in us rich or rare, To make us claim a moments care? Unworthy to be so carest, We are but withering leaves at best.
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"I come to visit thee agen,..."
Walter Savage Landor's contribution to classic is further solidified by the brilliance found in "To A Cyclamen"... ### Why We Love This Line At Linespedia, we believe that poetry is the ultimate sanctuary for the soul...