Little Things by Orrick Jone
There's nothing very beautiful and nothing very gay 
About the rush of faces in the town by day; 
But a light tan cow in a pale green mead,  
That is very beautiful, beautiful indeed… 
And the soft March wind and the low March mist 
Are better than kisses in a dark street kissed… 
The fragrance of the forest when it wakes at dawn, 
The fragrance of a trim green village lawn, 
The hearing of the murmur of the rain at play— 
These things are beautiful, beautiful as day! 
And I shan't stand waiting for love or scorn 
When the feast is laid for a day new-born… 
Oh, better let the little things I loved when little 
Return when the heart finds the great things brittle; 
And better is a temple made of bark and thong 
Than a tall stone temple that may stand too long.

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