Pearls do not lie on the seashore. If you desire one, you must dive for it.
-o0o-
THE SATURDAY POEM
Exile
Marjorie Pickthall 1883-1922
I chose the place where I would rest
When death should come to claim me,
With the red-rose roots to wrap my breast
And a quiet stone to name me.
But I am laid on a northern steep
With the roaring tides below me,
And only the frosts to bind my sleep
And only the winds to name me.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
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