Upon my desk a single spray,
With starry blossoms fraught.
I write in many an idle way,
Thinking one serious thought.

'O flowers, a fine Greek name ye bear,
And with a fine Greek grace.'
Be still, O heart, that turns to share
The sunshine of a face.

'Have ye no messages-no brief,
Still sign: 'Despair', or 'Hope'?'
A sudden stir of stem and leaf-
A breath of heliotrope!

More verses by Ambrose Bierce