The House of the Trees
& Other Poems

by Ethelwyn Wetherald


Give Me the Poorest Weed

GIVE me the poorest weed
To satisfy my spirit’s need.
The brownest blade of grass
Will know and greet me when I pass.

Of their own feeling wrought,


They live like simple, vital thought;
The mind could not invent
A better thing than Nature meant. [Page 64]