Explore "The Hillside Grave" by Madison Cawein on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Ten-hundred deep the drifted daisies break / Here at the hill's foot; on its top, the wheat / Hangs meagre-bearded; and, in vague retreat, / The wisp-like blooms of the moth-mulleins shake. / And where the wild-pink drops a crimson flake, / And morning-glories, like young lips, make sweet / The shaded hush, low in the honeyed heat, / The wild-bees hum; as if afraid to wake / One sleeping there; with no white stone to tell / The story of existence; but the stem / Of one wild-rose, towering o'er brier and weed, / Where all the day the wild-birds requiem; / Within whose shade the timid violets spell / An epitaph, only the stars can read.