The loose stones clamor in the cool dew, Old grey stones that utter softly The speech they have gathered. Towards the quiet garden walls, Their flowered faces shall hanging down, In the still morning teal, are seen;
- Ezra Pound
The loose stones clamor in the cool dew, Old grey stones that utter softly The speech they have gathered. Towards the quiet garden walls, Their flowered faces shall hanging down, In the still morning teal, are seen;