The Grey Days.
I can add no song to the days that are bright; They thtmselves are lyrics of light. The shimmer and motion of living green In the sun has its own quick cedence, the clean Sparkle of light-filled air is more Than words can find the pattern for 1 But the grey days come, sunless and still. Steadily, closely, I look my fill And am not dazzled. The green of a leaf Is deep true greenness and not a brief Translucent glitter; now the small Mossy hollows, the petals that fall Through the quiet air, are not out shone By brighter glories. Here upon The faintest of gently muted strings Is a song, in praise of little things —Anita Laurie Cushing.
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https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/TCP19370304.2.3.2
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Taranaki Central Press, Volume IV, Issue 374, 4 March 1937, Page 2
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123The Grey Days. Taranaki Central Press, Volume IV, Issue 374, 4 March 1937, Page 2
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