Poem by John Vance Cheney

One

ONE whitest lily, reddest rose,
None other such the summer knows;
Of bird or brook one perfect tune,
And sung is all the sweet of June.
 
Once come and gone, the one dear face,
Forever empty is its place;
But one far voice the lover hears,
Calling across the waste of years.

1. At a Grave
2. Coyote
3. Lincoln
4. Evening Songs
5. Somewhere

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