Upon my desk a single spray,
With starry blossoms fraught.
I write in many an idle way,
Thinking one serious thought.
“O flowers, a fine Greek name ye bear,
And with a fine Greek grace.”
(Be still, O heart, that turns to share
The sunshine of a face.)
“Have ye no messages—no brief,
Still sign: ‘Despair,’ or ‘Hope’?”
A sudden stir of stem and leaf—
A breath of heliotrope!