Silent daisies out of reach,
Maidens of the starry grass,
Gazing on me as I pass
With a look too wise for speech,
Teach me resignation,—teach
Patience to the barren clod,
As, above your happier sod,
Bending to the wind's caress,
You—unplucked, alas!—no less
Sweetly manifest the god.
_George Santayana
