Picking Daisies

Pity the eyes that have never seen dawn
Twilight, or shadow—or a wind blown tree
But pity the eyes that look upon
All loveliness, and yet still never see

Pity the ears that have not caught the notes
Of wind or wave; of music or bird
But pity more when music floats
To ears that hear—and have still never heard

Pity the hearts that have not known the gift
Of comforting love; nor have felt a caress
But pity the hearts that simply drift
From loves high moment to forgetfulness

For this is the tragedy of “common sense”
To dim all wonder—with indifference